And so it is time for the cat's point of view. Give her the respect that a superior being like her deserves...
7:12 AM. Waking up at home. Slept well. Dreamed of vast fields of catnip being at my disposal.
7:14 AM. An examination of the clock dismays me. It still feels like it’s an hour earlier than it’s supposed to be. Why do human beings insist on this inane ritual of changing their clocks twice a year? It serves no legitimate purpose, and only makes them grouchy for a week. More to the point, it leaves us cats out of sorts for a week…..
7:16 AM. ….and it’s not as if it accomplishes anything. I had to wake up my staff on Sunday morning by yell meowing at her. I’m sure she didn’t appreciate it, but breakfast must be seen to, after all, and her serving me breakfast in the morning is one of her reasons for being.
7:18 AM. Waiting on the staff to get down here. I can’t see to breakfast on my own, after all. I lack opposable thumbs, and the milk container is as big as I am, so there’s no way I can keep control of that. On the other hand, if the milk container would spill on the floor, I can say justly that none of it would go to waste.
7:23 AM. The staff finally gets downstairs. It’s about time, staff, I was about to come up and insist you get down here. Now then, have you put any thought into my breakfast? Because I’m a wee bit famished, seeing as how I haven’t had a bite to eat since supper last night, and I’ve been preoccupied with breakfast since the moment I woke up…
7:24 AM. ….and while we’re at it, staff, can you hold the field rations? I know I’ve explained this to you on many occasions, and you persist in ignoring me. I do not like or want field rations, so there’s no point in pouring me a bowl of them. No, I am not high maintenance, I just like things the way I like them, that’s all.
7:26 AM. The staff sets down my breakfast on the floor. A bowl of milk and a plate of chicken meet with my approval. For whatever reason she persists in also putting down a bowl of field rations. You and I shall have to have a discussion later, staff.
7:28 AM. I finish off the milk and chicken, and ignore the field rations. I’ll let the staff have her breakfast in relative peace and quiet.
7:31 AM. Sitting on the back of the couch, looking outside. I can hear the distant barking from that annoying mutt down the road. Stupid dog…
7:35 AM. The staff is on her way out the door. Well, staff, have fun at that workplace you go to every day. Try not to bring the coronavirus home or anything.
7:37 AM. Watching from the window as the staff leaves the property in her car. Well, my car, since I own my staff, but she’s the one who knows how to drive the thing.
7:58 AM. Distant barking from that vile hound, more intensive. Probably chasing the squirrel, and from the sounds of it, the squirrel successfully got up a tree. He sounds frustrated.
8:04 AM. The idiot dog keeps barking. Give it up already, just go home.
8:33 AM. Things have quieted down in the woods. I assume the dog finally took a hint and left. Just as long as he doesn’t come here.
8:37 AM. Watching morning news. As is the case these days, it’s coronavirus 24/7. They’ve postponed the NBA, the NHL, the Grand Ole Opry- wait, that thing still exists? They’re curtailing audiences for television shows, postponing film premiers. The stock market is going crazy.
And for some strange reason humans are strangling each other over toilet paper.
Human beings are really, really, really weird.
8:43 AM. A commentator on the news has taken things in an even weirder direction by telling you how you can survive self quarantine by eating the dead.
So this is how far the paranoia has taken you? You’re advocating cannibalism?
The station goes for a break, with producers yanking the commentator off the air before they do, and use a clip of The Walking Dead as their fade out.
That’s it, one more minute of watching this nonsense and I’ll catch it myself. Not the coronavirus, the paranoia.
9:55 AM. Waking up from a nap. Slept exceedingly well. Dreamed of knocking around cat toys and pulling tablecloths off the table. Which reminds me, it’s been awhile since I’ve done that…
12:03 PM. Coming into the kitchen, feeling hungry. Realizing there’s only field rations around.
12:06 PM. After much internal deliberation, I have helped myself to some of the field rations.
1:32 PM. I can hear the distant sound of the dog barking. The mailman must be dropping things off, and true to form, the idiot dog takes it personally.
3:48 PM. Waking up from another nap. Taking a look at the clock. Where is the staff, already? I’m hungry!
5:23 PM. The staff walks in the front door with a couple of bags of groceries. Of course this attracts my attention.
5:25 PM. An inspection of the groceries finds milk, which meets with my approval. Along with a few other things, but why on earth are you buying that much toilet paper? You already have enough arouind the house. Staff, that has absolutely no effect on coronavirus, and here you are, succumbing to the paranoia. Don’t tell me you hit someone to get those rolls?
6:38 PM. Dinner with the staff. She’s made herself an omelette. She’s set aside a plate of sausage, cut up nicely for me. That’ll do, staff. I don’t know why you feel you need to eat egg and onion and spinach with your meat.
8:40 PM. Lying on the couch in the living room, pondering the great mysteries while the staff sits beside me. What made the first cat who sniffed catnip do it?
11:32 PM. The staff is off to bed. Well, good night, staff, and sleep well. Try not to dream of coronavirus paranoia. It’ll do you no good at all to get yourself worked up over this. Not when the real concern you should be worrying about is what the squirrels are up to.