(Taking a page from my friend and fellow Upstater Kelly – to abate the tensions of today’s Presidential Finale – I defer to the antics of our cat Gracie, who spent the better part of the morning projectile vomiting in every room and on all upholstered furniture.)
In her own words:
First thing this morning, at the first alarm, the one before the snooze alarm, I announce myself to the owners by bursting into their bedroom. The bedroom door is always left ajar with a shoe propped inside against it to prevent me from doing just what I like to do, opening the door as wide as it will go. It’s a real success if it slams the wall behind it.
I don’t always present myself suchly. But today I’m feeling jaunty.
So I jump up on the bed hard. Again, I don’t always, because that would be old and predictable. I am neither. Sometimes I think the other cat is both. Even though we are supposed littermates. Something’s up with her and she’s been ornery. She doesn’t like me licking her. Or she does for a little bit and then she gets all hissy. Literally hissy, as in she totally hisses at me. So I don’t try much to cuddle with her anymore. Unless she’s in the sun. Then I do. And she get’s all hissy and then sometimes we fight. You know, rear back on our hind legs, paws up front, ears pinned back, grabbing, pawing, and sometimes actually rolling around. I usually get the spot in the sun afterward so I don’t mind so much.
Where was I? This morning I jump hard and paw my way over to my girl owner. Then I just lay on her, comfortably until it’s time to get up.
Once she’s up and at ‘em the following her around time happens. Whatever she does I do. Except she actually does stuff and I just watch. For instance I sit on the toilet while she showers. I get bored trying to see through the slats of the blinds, so instead I stretch over to the glass stall and chase after the water droplets. When she’s done with the shower I roll around on the rug at her feet waiting to be pet on my belly while she dries her hair. Finally we make our way downstairs. I watch as she makes the boys’ breakfast. Waiting, waiting, waiting for mine!
Finally, I follow her into the basement, expertly lacing my way through her feet, then charging in front of her. I try not to trip her. Sometimes she stumbles and swears. I just want to beat her to my bowl always. Here comes the other cat too. Funny how we don’t mind sharing a food bowl and a litter box. Why not the sunshine?
My long-haired gray littermate always takes to the scratching post. I’m satisfied with rubbing up against this and that, because it’s what I’m supposed to do any way, while I wait patiently for my can of food. Have I mentioned our little cat room is one we share with the furnace and the hot water heater? It’s cordoned off by a gate that our 5’2” girl owner doesn’t seem to mind scaling every morning. The dogs. That’s all I have to say. It keeps the dogs out of our food and our poop. Aren’t dogs gross?
Lately we have had quite a selection of new wet food and I’m loving it. It is fantastically flavored and I eat it as fast as I can. Yes. I see today is no exception. Sploosh. Seafood stew. Let me at it. I cannot lick it up fast enough. I must bite it up. So delicious.
I sit for a bit, rather stunned that I have eaten the entire bowl so quickly. So much so that I feel like I need more. I plunge my face into the dry food bowl, the other cat not minding that we are crunching together. Finally, we both look up and sit back, licking our faces. We’re finished. So satisfying.
I bolt upstairs to thank my lady owner. Except I’m not really feeling so well after all.