And now it is the turn of the cat to have her say...
7:09 AM. Waking up at home in the living room. Stretching and yawning. Slept well. Dreamed of Christmas packages being opened. The boxes were my primary interest.
7:12 AM. Looking outside at the vastness of my domain. Still semi-dark, so the sun isn’t up yet. Waiting on my staff to get up. Fortunately she has the Christmas holidays off from that work place she wanders off to all the time, so I can let her sleep in. For another five minutes.
7:16 AM. Come on, staff. Wake up already. Do I have to go up there and wake you up personally?
7:18 AM. Jumping up on the staff’s bed. Or my bed. Given that it’s in my house and that I own the staff, it’s mine. I just let the staff sleep in it. Pondering my options. Do I meow ceaselessly until she gets up? Do I walk all over her? Do I sit here and stare at her, willing her to wake up?
7:19 AM. Staring at the staff. Her eyes open. She looks at me as if I just freaked her out. Yes, well, it was time for you to get up and going anyway, and you know it.
7:20 AM. Now then, staff, I shall leave you to get yourself ready for the day, but will be downstairs expecting breakfast promptly. Don’t get any funny ideas, like going back to sleep for a half hour, or I shall be quite put out. Do we have an understanding?
7:23 AM. Waiting downstairs. Sounds of the shower on upstairs. Very good. I have my staff well trained in these matters.
7:38 AM. The staff comes downstairs. I nod my approval. All right, staff, it is time for you to see to my breakfast. After all, lacking opposable thumbs, I can’t do it myself, and if I did, well, that wouldn’t be fair to you, because what else is a staff for aside from tending to my whims? Where was I? Oh yes, breakfast. Now then, I would prefer tuna this morning, preferably on a chilled plate that’s been in the fridge for a half hour, but that would have required you getting up a half hour early, so we’ll have to forego the chilled plate idea. I also wish a bowl of milk to be placed for my use promptly. Oh, and while we’re at it, can we just forget your constant need to give me field rations? You and I both know I don’t like them anyway.
7:41 AM. The staff has put down my breakfast for the day. Tuna and milk, side by side. And true to form, she puts down a bowl of field rations too. Sigh. There are times I will never understand the way my staff’s mind works.
7:43 AM. Finished breakfast. Ignoring the field rations. Licking my lips. I will allow my staff to have her breakfast in peace and quiet.
7:48 AM. Sitting on the back of the couch, looking outside at the fresh snow and the flying lunches around the feeders. Hearing the distant barking of that annoying mutt from down the road. If Santa was real, he’d leave that dog a lump of coal in his stocking.
8:20 AM. The staff is baking. I am quietly sitting when my reverie is broken by the sound of barking right outside. I look- and see that foul hound outside my window. I commence hissing and declaring a state of hostility. The mutt, true to form, looks confused.
8:21 AM. Threatening the irritating dog with dire consequences if he doesn’t leave my property immediately. Get lost, vile beast!
8:22 AM. The dog heads back the way he came. My staff asks why I can’t just get along with dogs. Are you out of your mind? He’s a dog! That alone is reason enough to dislike him!
11:37 AM. Waking up from a nap. Finding the staff on the couch reading. Jumping up on her lap to get her attention. Come on, staff, you’ve read that book a million times. Well, maybe not literally a million, but you get my point. Scrooge repents his bah humbug ways, everybody lives happily ever after, and so on and so on and so on.
12:17 PM. The staff is having lunch. She’s thoughtfully cut up a few slices of ham into kitty sized bites for me and set it on a plate. Very well, staff, I have you quite well trained. Except for your persistence in the whole field rations thing, which I will never understand.
1:22 PM. The staff is on the telephone chatting with someone. From the name she’s saying, I expect it’s that sister of hers. Who married the moron and had those idiot kids. Staff, in case I haven’t made it perfectly clear, those idiot relations of yours are not welcome here over Christmas. I am not spending Christmas Eve and Christmas Day hiding in any one of forty seven different bolt holes I have throughout the house to spare myself from the presence of obnoxious brats.
1:30 PM. Distant barking from that hound. Must be the mailman down the road.
3:50 PM. Waking up from a nap. Slept well. We cats do need to invest time in our naps, after all. It’s a cat thing.
4:15 PM. The staff is having afternoon tea. She’s set down a saucer of milk for me. Very good.
5:26 PM. The staff is busy getting to work on dinner. I am busy supervising. So what is it tonight, staff? Something tasty? Something that meets with my approval?
6:09 PM. The staff and I are having dinner. She’s diced up some lamb for me. She’s having sprouts with her lamb. Which I don’t get. Who on earth would want to eat sprouts?
6:36 PM. Supervising the staff while she washes the dishes. You know, I’d help and all, but I don’t really like getting my paws in all that soapy water. So I’ll just sit here being a morale booster for you. Does that sound good?
8:03 PM. The staff has just started watching The Sound Of Music on television. First off, why do they air this movie this time of year? This story has nothing to do with Christmas. Second, why does Julie Andrews feel the need to sing at the top of her lungs every five minutes? And third, why does her list of favourite things not include catnip toys?
10:32 PM. Having had taken refuge upstairs from the endless singing, I have come downstairs to see if the movie’s over. No luck, the Germans are still menacing everyone. Staff, may I just say, you have horrible taste in movies. Put on a nature program instead. I want to watch a lynx chase a rabbit.
11:25 PM. The staff is off to bed. Very well, staff. Good night. Sleep well. Tomorrow night we get to watch a Christmas movie I want to see. After all, it’s not really Christmas until someone drops Hans Gruber out of a forty story building.