And having had let the dog prattle on, so it is now the cat's turn to have her say...
7:04 AM. Waking up at home on the couch. Yawning and taking a big stretch. Slept exceedingly well. Dreamed that the vet was the size of a mouse.
7:08 AM. Sitting on the back of the couch, gazing out at my domain. Clear skies. Well, spring took long enough in showing itself, if you ask me. Of course, even that has drawbacks. My staff has allergies to fresh pollen.
7:12 AM. Waiting impatiently for the staff to get downstairs and see to my breakfast. I’d do it myself, but for two things. First, I lack the opposable thumbs to get into the pantry. Second, my staff’s entire reason to exist is service to me, and I can’t have her feeling unneeded, can I? Oh well, at least I hear her moving about upstairs.
7:21 AM. The staff comes downstairs. I meow in greetings and deliver head bonks to the legs. Now then, staff, how about some breakfast? I don’t know about you, but speaking for myself, I am quite hungry and could use a good solid meal. So let’s get to it. Where do we begin? I feel like either chicken or tuna this morning, with a full bowl of milk to satisfy my thirst. And no field rations. Are we clear on that, staff? I don’t want field rations…
7:22 AM. ….and honestly, staff, would it kill you to wake up a half hour earlier just to put a plate in the fridge for me? Staff? Staff? Are you listening to me when I talk to you? Don’t make me lower myself to start speaking English to you.
7:24 AM. The staff puts down my breakfast on the floor. The plate of chicken and the bowl of milk are welcome sights to me. True to form, however, she continues to put down a bowl of field rations. Sigh. Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you, staff, I really do…
7:25 AM. Finished breakfast. I am leaving the field rations alone, of course, but pleased with the rest. I shall let my staff have her breakfast in peace and quiet.
7:33 AM. Staring outside. Distant barking from that annoying mutt. Shut up!
7:42 AM. The staff is on her way out the door for the morning. Farewell, staff, enjoy your day at that work place you go to. And out of consideration for your allergies, if you feel the urge to go running through meadows at lunch and singing like Julie Andrews, don’t. First, you’ll end up sneezing. Second, I’ve heard you sing before, and I hate to point this out to you, but you really can’t sing.
7:44 AM. Watching the staff leaving in her car. Okay then. Agenda for the day. What do we have to get done here? Aside from more naps?
8:03 AM. Watching the weather network. The meteorologist looks quite panicked and terrified. Says something about the Pollen Allergy Vortex. Oh, come on, this is the same guy they pulled off the air in the winter for panicking about a twenty centimeter snowfall and telling everyone they were going to have to eat the dead. What is he doing back on the air? Shouldn’t he be locked away in some place with lots of sedatives and padded walls?
8:10 AM. Sitting on the back of the couch, gazing outside towards the woods. Movement out there. It looks like that idiot dog. He’s not approaching the property line, just walking. And he looks like he’s been through the mud puddle to end all mud puddles. Well, that’s one hound who’s due for a serious bath. Couldn’t have happened to someone who deserved it more than him.
8:53 AM. Have found myself a nice handy sun puddle to lie in. I think a nap is in order. It would do me just fine.
11:01 AM. Waking up from my nap. Hey, where’d the sun puddle go? Who gave it permission to go away?
11:08 AM. Stepping into the kitchen, feeling a bit peckish. Only field rations to be found.
11:10 AM. Despite my better judgement, I help myself to some of those field rations.
12:14 PM. Watching the noon news. Two so called experts- what they mean is two people with totally opposing viewpoints- spend time yelling at each other in a segment I like to call I’m Right, You’re Wrong, Drop Dead. This time they’re talking about allergy season.
1:29 PM. Distant barking from that vile mutt down the road wakes me up from a perfectly good nap. That must mean the mail should be here in a minute or two.
4:22 PM. Waking up from my latest nap. A look at the clock. Okay, so the staff ought to be home in the not so distant future. Unless she decided to go see a movie. Or her idiot relations. Or have dinner in town. Or anything else that she didn’t specifically clear with me in advance.
4:56 PM. Musing on the dark mysteries of kitty life. Is it wrong to feel overly attached to catnip?
5:20 PM. Greeting the staff as she walks in the front door with a couple of bags. Hello, staff, did you bring me anything?
5:24 PM. Supervising the staff as she unpacks the groceries. No sign of extra catnip, but we’ve still got a couple of cases in the pantry. I approve of the container of milk. As I always say, you can never have enough milk in the house, especially in an emergency, like during a thunderstorm or the visit of my staff’s irritating relations. Which reminds me, staff, have I made it clear that you are not to invite those people over here without clearing it with me a week in advance?
6:31 PM. Dinner with the staff. She’s made bacon pancakes, and has been kind enough to cut some up in kitty sized bites just for me. Very good, staff, very good indeed. This makes up for the field rations.
7:02 PM. Watching the staff as she does dishes. Come on, staff, you've got to hurry up and finish so you can sit down. Specifically so I can claim your lap.
8:48 PM. Sitting in the living room, watching my staff across the room, sneezing her head off. You know, there are medications and remedies available to help alleviate all that, right? All that sneezing just looks…? Well, undignified.
11:35 PM. The staff is off to bed, still sneezing. I think I’ll pass the night down here. You’re sneezing loud enough to wake the dead, and I won’t get so much as a wink if I head up with you.