A Day In The Life Of A Cat

And so now it is the time for the cat to have her say. Your Imperial Grace, the floor is yours.

7:31 AM. Slowly wake up at home. Big stretch, yes, just like that, and a yawn to finish it off. I’m ready to face the day, kick some butt, and take some names. And since this is a Saturday, that means I have the staff all to myself.

7:37 AM. Well, there you are, staff. How about we get ourselves started on breakfast? And of course by we, I mean you. I can’t open cabinets and serve myself, you know. Now then, I would like my milk in a slightly chilled bowl, and a plate of tuna served post haste. I do not want to see any trace of field rations, so be a good staff and see to it.

7:41 AM. Staring at a bowl of field rations. Staring up at the staff. How many times, staff, have I told you I don’t care for field rations?

7:42 AM. Walking away from the staff and the field rations. Hopefully sooner or later she’ll take the hint.

7:55 AM. Let’s see, what’s on my to-do list today? Scratching post exercises, nap, settling on the staff’s reading material, more naps, maybe tweet some stuff to dog lovers, you know, the usual, like cats rule, dogs drool...

8:12 AM. Startled out of my reverie by the loud sound of a single woof from outside. That sounds distinctly like that annoying mutt from down the road.

8:13 AM. Have found a perch on a windowsill to look out over where I think the barking came from. I am scanning the property and the woods beyond. The stupid dog must have been there, but now he’s gone. Laugh it up, mutt, but someday I’ll be the one sneaking up on you.

8:17 AM. Staff! There you are! I assume you heard that barking from that irritating hound. How dare he turn up around my property without my express permission! I demand you do something about it! Like giving his human a stern talking to! 

Staff? Staff? Hey, get back here!

8:31 AM. Reluctantly, I eat some of the field rations.

8:54 AM. I think a nap is in order. Yes, that would suit me just fine.

11:48 AM. Waking up suddenly. Sniffing with nostrils... turning around. The staff just gave the scratching post a spraying of catnip. Out of my way! Launching full feline attack on that scratching post!

12:23 PM. Slowly coming down off that catnip high and ferocious assault on the scratching post. If there was a cop in the room right now, I’d just have to say, sorry, officer, I can’t help myself. I’m addicted to the nip.

12:36 PM. Lunch with the staff. She’s given me a couple of slices of smoked meat. That is much more to my liking than field rations, staff. You don’t suppose the butcher could make this with a bit of catnip mixed into the recipe, do you?

1:35 PM. I see the staff is reading. You know, there is no better place in the house- at least at this moment in time- for a nap than on top of her book.

1:36 PM. Have successfully settled myself on top of the staff’s book and lap. She sighs with exasperation, which I make up for with some particularly strong purring. Works every time.

3:43 PM. Waking up on the couch. Hey... how did the staff extract herself from beneath me without waking me up?

3:46 PM. Finding the staff doing some ironing. I give her a head bonk to the leg. Staff? Who gave you permission to get up? Because I certainly did not.

4:32 PM. Watching the Weather Channel. An update on the cleanup from that big blizzard down in the States a few days back. Some areas are still snowed under. You know, if that snow fell around here, it would just be another snowstorm. Down there, it’s gridlock for a month.

6:07 PM. Staff working on dinner in the kitchen. Smells like omelette. Just as long as she cooks some meat into it. Oh, and I’d prefer a bit of onion with mine. I mean, omelette without onion would just be uncivilized.

6:22 PM. Dinner with the staff. Yes, she’s given me some omelette. With onion. Though for some reason she cooked green olives into it. Well, okay, this one time I’ll put up with it. Had you cooked broccoli into the omelette, staff... that would be unacceptable.

6:41 PM.  The staff’s doing the dishes. I’m busy staring at the ceiling, pondering the answer to the great mystery in life: if you had to save one of two things, which would it be- a ball of yarn or the catnip?

7:36 PM. The staff settles in with another book on the couch. I decide to give her a break instead of launching yet another occupy her lap operation.

8:46 PM. Okay. Time to have a look and see what she's reading now.

8:48 PM. Sitting on the back of the couch, reading over the staff’s shoulder. Staff, we seriously need to get you better reading material, because these 50 Shades books were written by an awful writer. Seriously, a room full of dogs could write a better book. They’d probably title it Chasing Tail.

9:23 PM. Musing on the big questions of life. Are humans meant to be anything but our servants? What is the meaning of the red dot? And can other forms of life purr?

11:36 PM. The staff is off to bed. Well, good night, staff. I’ll be busy down here finding a place to hide that book of yours. I think the fireplace is a perfectly suitable place, don’t you? Of course, the problem with that is that my claws can’t open the screens. Oh well, it was an entertaining thought.

A Day In The Life Of A Dog

It is time once again for the point of view of the resident dog and cat. As always, the dog starts things off.

7:34 AM. Waking up at home. Slept exceedingly well. Had good dreams of chewing on dog treats. Yum yum yum. What’s even better is having dog treats for real. After breakfast, perhaps. And after my morning run, but before my morning tea mooch session. Note to self: don’t nap through the morning tea mooch session.

7:37 AM. Looking out the window. More snow in the night. Looks nice and fresh and ready for me to go playing in.

7:41 AM. Good morning, human! Fine day out there, isn’t it? Say, how about some breakfast? I’m feeling a bit peckish. Oh, by the way, I had a rather nice dream involving dog treats. Any of those in the offing?

7:44 AM. Devouring breakfast at a rapid pace. It’s almost like I’m a vacuum cleaner, which of course must be sacrilege, because all dogs know that vacuum cleaners are evil.

7:47 AM. Out the door for my morning run. Bye, human! Don’t you be driving off anywhere without me riding shotgun, right?

8:03 AM. Running through the back fields, barking like a lunatic. There are times when barking like a lunatic is the very best thing you can do. Like about sixty percent of the time when you’re awake. Particularly if the mailman is near your house.

8:12 AM. Stopping by the house of that cranky cat. No sign of her in the yard. I give one big woof and start running back into the woods. By the time she’s at the windows, I’ll be long gone! Hah hah hah!

8:14 AM. Heading back through the woods. Right about now that cat’s sitting on a windowsill trying to spot any sight of me to no avail, grumbling through her fangs and vowing a claw vengeance on me.

8:23 AM. Stopping by to see Spike the Magnificent, Tormentor of Squirrels. Hello, Spike! Top of the morning to you!

8:25 AM. Spike and I compare intelligence reports on movements of the enemy. The squirrels continue to remain elusive. We occasionally see them at bird feeders raiding the bird seed like the greedy devious louts that they are, but beyond that, they have made themselves scarce.

8:28 AM. Spike and I discuss what’s coming next week. That annual occasion when people consult weather prognosticating rodents to find out how long winter will last. You and I could tell them that, Spike, I mean, honestly... winter will last as long as it’s meant to last. If that means seventeen more weeks of winter, so be it. Who needs a groundhog for that?

8:33 AM. Taking leave of Spike. See you later, Spike. I have a nap to get to before morning tea, after all, and I don’t mean to be late.

8:49 AM. Barking at the door to be let back in. Human! Loki, Chewer Of Slippers And Annoyance To Mailmen is back!

8:51 AM. The human catches me before I can get past into the house, and subjects me to the Towel of Torment. Oh, come on, human, I haven’t spent that much time rolling around in the snow. I can dry off naturally, you know...

8:55 AM. Circling around three times on the living room rug before settling down by the fireplace. Two times is too few, four times is too many. Nap time, Loki, and this time, set your internal alarm clock.

11:23 AM. Waking up. Glancing at clock. Why did my internal alarm clock not go off? I missed morning tea mooching, and the opportunities presented by cookies. Oh well, better luck with afternoon tea, right? Of course I’m right. 

12:10 PM. Mooching a couple of dinner rolls from the human over lunch. Yum yum yummy!

1:03 PM. Pondering what came first. The dog or the cat. If it was the dog, why do we chase cats then? You know, philosophy can get a little perplexing at times. Rest assured, Plato’s dog never had to deal with these kinds of questions.

4:36 PM. Waking up from nap. Glance at clock.... wait. I slept through afternoon tea too????

4:38 PM. Finding the human in the kitchen. Human? Why didn’t you wake me up for afternoon tea?

4:39 PM. The human presents me with two butterscotch cookies. Oh boy! Yum yum yummy!

5:48 PM. Staring outside while the human’s in the kitchen making dinner. As fun as weekend days are, there’s something not quite right about lacking the opportunity to bark at the mailman.

6:21 PM. Dinner with the human. She’s cut up some beef for me. She insists on eating hers with Brussels sprouts. You know, there are times humans can be such a mystery. You can rest assured that I would never subject myself to eating Brussels sprouts.

Again. Not after that last time.

8:45 PM. The human’s sitting on the couch reading. I’m busy engaged in a staring contest with that stone gargoyle she keeps on the mantle. One of these days, ugly, I’m going to win...

8:57 PM. Rats. Lost again.

11:36 PM. The human is off to bed. Good night, human! I will keep a close eye on the house overnight. When I’m not sleeping, that is, but never fear, I can be awake in an instant. Just not, apparently, when you’re having tea and cookies, in which case I’m sleeping like the dead for some reason.