A Day In The Life Of A Cat

And so it is time for the cat to have her say. Your Imperial Grace? The floor is yours, as is everything else.

6:55 AM. Waking up at home. Slept reasonably well. Dreamed of endless fields of catnip. 

7:02 AM. Sitting on the back of the couch, staring outside, watching birds splash about in a bird bath, seemingly without a care in the world. Little do they know that I’m watching. If there wasn’t a window between you and I, you’d have something to care about.

7:05 AM. Consulting the Weather Network. Clear skies today, possible rainstorms overnight. Well, have we not seen enough rain as of late? One day of rain after another. On the other hand, that’s kept that foul hound from venturing too far from home, so that’s a good thing.

7:14 AM. Patiently waiting for the staff to get herself in gear and get downstairs. Well, I’ve heard movement up there, so I know it’s not as if she hit the snooze button and went back to sleep. Come on, staff, you do realize that I have very specific demands in mind for my breakfast. Now, up and at it, and don’t make me come upstairs to meow at you loudly.

7:21 AM. The staff finally comes downstairs. I greet her with head bonks and meows.

7:23 AM. …..and for the record, staff, we really must sit down sometime and discuss your inability to get down here a half hour earlier and put a plate in the fridge. I’ll have you know that one half hour of a chilled plate makes such a difference in the cuisine experience for a cat having her morning tuna or chicken or whatever. Who wants room temperature plates when a chilled plate- but not too chilled- adds so much to the dining experience? Now don’t you start about me being high maintenance. I am not high maintenance. I just know what I like.

7:25 AM. The staff sets down a plate of tuna and a bowl of milk. For reasons that remain peculiar to me, she insists on also setting down a bowl of field rations. I start helping myself to the first two, and shall steadfastly ignore the third.

7:27 AM. Finishing my breakfast. Licking my lips. Leaving the field rations alone. My compliments, staff, bravo. Now remember what I said about waking up earlier tomorrow to put a plate in the fridge. I shall leave you in peace to have your own breakfast.

7:37 AM. Sitting on the back of the couch, staring outside. In the distance, I can hear barking. That idiot mutt is out and about as usual.

7:42 AM. Bidding farewell to my staff as she’s on her way out the front door for that work place she goes to. Don’t forget to pick up some catnip on your way home tonight, staff, we’re nearly out, you know.

7:44 AM. Okay. The staff is now gone for the day. On my to do list for today. Naps! Preferably in big sun puddles, which is a bonus, given that we’ve had days of rain and today just happens to be clear. The only thing better than a nap is a nap in a sun puddle.

8:03 AM. Watching the treeline from an upstairs window. Movement out there. Looking closer. I think it’s that vile hound from down the road… but boy, is he muddy. Looks like a canine version of Swamp Thing. Just don’t you think of coming onto my property, do you hear me? Or there’ll be hell to pay.

9:13 AM. Settling down in a good sun puddle for a nap. As I always say, you can never stockpile too many naps.

11:39 AM. Waking up from my nap. Taking a big stretch. Feeling hungry.

11:44 AM. Caught up in that usual dilemma- do I or do I not eat the field rations?

11:47 AM. After much consideration, I have helped myself to the field rations.

1:32 PM. Distant barking has woken me up from a perfectly blissful nap. A glance at the clock. The mailman must be making his rounds, and that idiot mutt doesn’t seem to grasp the obvious- that it’s his job, and that the mailman isn’t some sort of demonic serial killer.

3:01 PM. Sitting on the back of the couch, staring outside, watching a squirrel dig around on the lawn outside. Perfectly still. Well, almost. I am quite aware of my tail twitching, but the squirrel can’t see that from out there.

4:28 PM. Waking up from another nap. Big stretch. Looking at the clock. Come on, staff, have you ever heard of knocking off work early? I have a whole lot of things for you to do in the interests of spoiling me rotten.

5:19 PM. The staff finally comes home. I meow in greetings and inquire as to if she happened to stop by the grocery store to replenish our catnip supplies.

5:22 PM. On the kitchen table supervising the staff as she unpacks a couple of bags of groceries. The carton of milk meets with my approval, but I detect no sign of catnip. Staff, are you aware that we’re down to one packet? 

5:50 PM. Supervising the staff while she makes dinner. She requires supervision- I mean, honestly, I told her to get catnip on the way home, but did she? No!

6:32 PM. Dinner with the staff. She’s made herself meatballs. I don’t know why she spices and seasons perfectly good ground beef, but she’s considerate enough to have put some of that beef on a plate for me without all the seasoning and spices. So I’m good for dinner. Though I must point out, staff, the advantageous nature of chilling the plate first.

8:07 PM. Musing on the great mysteries of life. If I am hiding in a box, can the staff see me just because I can’t see her? And is the true meaning of it all that boxes are the secret to life?

11:39 PM. Well, they were blathering on about thunderstorms overnight, and lo and behold, we’ve got a thunderstorm barreling through right about now. I shall go check on my staff, who should be settling into bed right about now. I can tolerate a thunderstorm myself, much better than your average dog, who, if you ask me, and you are asking me, will quake in fear. But I can’t say the same about my staff, who may need reassurance.

11:42 PM. Checking on my staff, who is in fact in bed. I commence purring and kneading my claws on top of her. Don’t worry, staff, the thunderstorm is just going to pass on by and let us be. Though those pink flamingos you keep on the back lawn might end up getting dislodged by the wind and end up in the pond. Mind you, that would rate as a good thing.