A Day In The Life Of A Cat

As always, the cat has the final word. Show her the due respect, for like all cats, she is a superior life form to we lowly humans.

7:01 AM. Waking up at home. Taking a stretch and yawning. Slept well. Dreamed of undoing the world’s biggest ball of yarn.

7:03 AM. A look outside at the pre-dawn. Light snow. Birds already around the feeders. Oh, you flying lunches are lucky I’m not out there, because I would be stalking you right now.

7:06 AM. Looking up at the ceiling. Wondering when it might be ideal to go up there and yell at the staff to get up. Do I give her three minutes or go right now?

7:08 AM. I have decided to be cordial to the staff and let her take her time. After all, this is one of those work days she has, so she has to get up and get ready for the day. Unless of course she hit the snooze button. Why did people invent the snooze button anyway?

7:12 AM. Musing on the mysteries of life. When did the cat first turn a human into their servant?

7:17 AM. Listening to the sounds from upstairs. It shouldn’t take her too long to get down here. Had she slept through her alarm, after all, either I would have gone up there to meow a few yells, or I would have heard a sudden expletive from upstairs. She favours the use of damn. Something a bit more stringent if she’s slept a half hour late.

7:26 AM. The staff comes downstairs. It’s about time, staff, I was this close to going up and yelling at you. Now then, have you thought of breakfast? Because I have. It’s all I’ve thought about in the twenty-five minutes I’ve been awake this morning. That, and the feline meaning of life and the required velocity and approach angles to ambush a flying lunch.

7:27 AM. ….and another thing, staff. I don’t want to be seeing any field rations poured, do you understand what I’m saying? I don’t appreciate field rations, as I have explained to you many times before. Meat and milk is adequate for my breakfast needs. So in summation, ixnay with the rationsay, are we following each other? 

7:29 AM. Despite my repeated insistence, the staff has put down a bowl of field rations beside my bowl of milk and plate of tuna. I help myself to the latter two, and shall ignore the first.

7:31 AM. Finished with breakfast. I shall leave my staff to have hers in peace.

7:37 AM. Distant barking coming through the windows. That stupid dog from down the road out for his morning run. What an idiot.

7:43 AM. The staff is on her way out the door. I meow her a farewell, and a suggestion that she not forget the milk on her way home.

7:44 AM. Watching the staff pull out of the driveway in her car. Well, it’s my car, technically speaking, since this is my house and my staff, but the only time I’m in that car is when my staff has the audacity to take me to the vet, so I let her drive it.

7:51 AM. Brooding as I sit on a windowsill, gazing out at the vastness of my domain.

8:06 AM. Movement at the treeline has caught my eye. It’s that damned mutt intruding on my property again. I let loose a string of expletives and curses.

8:07 AM. The foul hound withdraws back into the woods. And don’t come back!

8:26 AM. Yawning. You know, I think a nap is in order. Oh, sure, I’ve been awake barely an hour and a half, but as I always say, you can never stockpile too many naps.

10:49 AM. Waking up. Slept exceedingly well. Feeling a bit hungry.

10:50 AM. Staring at bowl of field rations, which is the only food out and about in the kitchen. Deciding whether or not I should eat it or not. Would it kill my staff to put out a second bowl of meat in the morning before she left for work? Oh, well, I’m hungry now, so let’s do something about that.

1:34 PM. Watching the mailman drop things off at the mailbox and drive away. No barking from down the road, so I imagine that dumb dog was trapped indoors and missed the chance to yell at the mailman.

4:21 PM. Waking up from another nap. Glancing at the clock. Damn, it’ll still be an hour before the staff gets back home.

5:28 PM. The staff steps back in, carrying a bag of groceries. Well, hello staff. It’s about time.

5:30 PM. An inspection of the groceries discovers that she’s bought milk and some meat. I approve of both, staff, but tell me, where is the catnip? Are you aware we’re down to two boxes of it in the pantry? Because I assure you, I keep track of these things.

6:38 PM. Dinner with the staff. She’s been kind enough to cut up some beef into nice kitty bite sized pieces for me. I don’t get why she insists on having cauliflower with hers.

8:41 PM. Lying on the couch beside the staff, who’s reading. I’m on my back, inviting her to give me a belly rub. She’s not taking the bait. Come on, staff, don’t you trust me? Would I do something like claw you if you rubbed my belly more than three times?

Don’t answer that.

11:27 PM. The staff is off to bed. Very well, staff, sleep well. But do keep the bedroom door open. I like coming up there at four in the morning and sitting there, watching you sleep, willing you to wake up just so that you can be freaked out by my staring at you.