Faith Can Move Mountains... But Dynamite Works Better

Monday, April 22, 2019

A Day In The Life Of A Cat

As always, the cat gets the final word in everything. And she hasn't had what she would deem a good Easter weekend.

7:07 AM. Waking up at home. Did not sleep well. Went to sleep late last night utterly disgusted with my staff, and brooded on it well into the night. How dare she invite her idiot relations to my house without consulting me? Especially an overnight? Especially with those rugrats of theirs in tow? At least they're gone now.

7:10 AM. Sitting on the back of the couch, staring out at the vastness of my domain, brooding. Two whole days, shot to hell. Two whole days in which my staff should have been waiting on me, spoiling me rotten, and what happened? All of Saturday and all of Sunday until nine last night, hiding in any of the seventy eight bolt holes I have spread out throughout the house just for such occasions, hearing those mewling brats chanting, 'kitty kitty kitty', and no doubt planning all sorts of ways to torment me...

7:12 AM. ....and it's not as if my staff even listens to me. I spent three hours last night yelling at her after her idiot relations left, and she didn't even take a hint. I will be displeased for quite some time to come if you ask me, and you are asking me.

7:15 AM. what I am saying here is that even if it's this whole Easter thing, that doesn't give my staff any right at all to not consult me when she invites her idiot relations over. Because if she had, I would have said, 'oh, hell, no!'

7:23 AM. Movements from upstairs. So the staff is awake. I'm torn between three things. Yelling at her some more. Giving her the silent treatment. Or getting breakfast.

7:31 AM. The staff comes downstairs and greets me. I remain staring out the window and not paying her attention.

Go away.

I am not talking to you today.

7:34 AM. My ears perk up at the sound of the can opener. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm in the kitchen and finding that the staff has put a bowl of milk and a bowl of field rations on the floor. She's also putting some chicken on a plate. She looks down at me. I realize my mistake in letting my stomach govern my actions, but here I am.

Well, carry on, staff, but make no mistake, this doesn't mean I forgive you for the Great Easter Ordeal of this year. Yes, the capitals are deliberate. 

7:35 AM. I have decided to ignore the field rations. I get to work eating the chicken and partaking of the milk.

7:37 AM. Finished breakfast. Satisfied for the moment. Still annoyed with my staff, which will persist for the time being. It's going to take a lot of groveling out of her before I stop being mad at her. Emphasis on a lot. Emphasis on groveling. 

7:49 AM. Distant barking somewhere out there. The idiot hound from down the road must be out and about, like he is most days. I bet he didn't have to put up with brats running around his house all weekend long. He deserves it if you ask me, and you are asking me.

8:03 AM. The Weather Network is doing some factoids about Easter Monday. Well apparently not everyone in Canada is off work today, but schools and civil servants are. Lots of weird traditions around the world, it seems. Hare pie scrambles? Dyngus Day? Easter egg races? In my personal opinion as a supreme life form on this planet, human beings are certifiably insane.

8:12 AM. Musing on the great mysteries of this season. Why on earth do humans paint eggs? And what do bunnies have to do with resurrections? And is the Easter bunny a front for some dark conspiracy that involves depriving cats of chocolate? Because the humans always tell us that chocolate isn't good for cats, but they expect us to take their word for it?

10:57 AM. Waking up from my nap. Slept reasonably better than I have for the last couple of days. When you're on edge the whole time because rugrats are in your house, uninvited, and you don't dare come out of wherever you're hiding for more than three minutes at a time, and only after listening for any sound for ten minutes... well, it just leaves you feeling pretty tense, and thoroughly unrested.

12:03 PM. Stopping in the kitchen and feeling a little hungry. Remembering that I finished all of my breakfast this morning. Well, the breakfast I wanted to eat, because the milk and chicken are long gone. But the field rations are still in the bowl. Weighing my options.

12:05 PM. Despite much reluctance, I help myself to some of those field rations.

1:26 PM. Sitting on the back of the couch, staring out at the sky. That cloud looks like a big ball of string.

2:08 PM. Watching my staff help herself to some of that Easter chocolate. Oh, sure, go ahead and keep claiming that stuff isn't good for cats. I find everything you say to be suspect, given that you said nothing about your idiot relations here for the weekend.

2:11 PM. The staff claims once again, as she's noticed she's under observation, that chocolate isn't good for me. And yet you can get away with eating it. I suspect that if humans were capable of purring, you'd be purring right now.

4:20 PM. The staff interrupts my brooding by giving me a scratch right behind my ear, just in that place where I like it and before I know it... oh, damn it, I'm purring. Purring! Hey! I'm still mad at you, staff!

4:26 PM. The staff apologizes for having her family over. Yes, well, if you'd remember that in the future, staff, we wouldn't have such moments. I don't care if you go see your idiot relations for a day or two, but I definitely resent having to spend two days hiding in closets and other select spots avoiding brats who want to pull my tail. Not to mention that moron of a brother-in-law of yours. Was he hit in the head a lot as a kid, or has his whole family spent too much time breeding too close to the gene pool?

4:39 PM. The staff is having tea. She's put some milk in her saucer for me to drink. Very good, staff.

5:53 PM. Supervising the staff while she makes dinner. It looks like she's working with stewing beef, which certainly meets with my approval.

6:48 PM. Having dinner with the staff. I have a plate of stewing beef for my meal. She's insisted on making hers with some reprehensible vegetable called kale. Tell you what, staff, you can withhold all the kale from me all you like instead of withholding chocolate.

7:24 PM. Leaving the staff to wash the dishes on her own. After all, getting splashed by soapy water is not my idea of a good time.

8:40 PM. Lying on the floor in the living room pondering the great mysteries of life. Is it possible to toss my staff's idiot relations into that black hole they photographed a few days back?

11:23 PM. The staff is off to bed. Well, good night, staff. Do keep the door open, though. I expect to be able to come in and raise objections in case you decide to call your idiot relations and invite them over for next weekend.


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