Cats, I have decided are beings that have no interest in the human race, and in fact refuse to accept that anything they choose to do is part of a race at all.
One time I visited a woman in Twin Falls Idaho on a bright sunny day in May. Invited to have a seat in her living room, I looked at the large wooden rocker and realized it would not be a good choice. The entire seat was taken up with a very fluffy orange cat that was curled into a wad in the sun. I chose the couch instead, not wanting to disturb anything so huge or hairy.
We talked a while and as the afternoon progressed, the sunbeam moved onto the floor and then outside somewhere. While we visited, the cat did not move even a muscle.
The afternoon was almost gone when the cat opened one eye just a slit, and then the other eye until his entire face seemed to scowl. He yawned, displaying a huge cavern with sharp pointy teeth standing at attention in a little semicircle and stretched, displaying his claws on the ends of his extended front legs. Then he slowly oozed his way off the chair like butter that has melted in the sunshine. It took a while for that much cat to actually leave the chair. I was astounded that he was almost the size of a golden retriever, although not nearly as bouncy. For a cat his size I doubted he could ever be animated at all. He slowly and deliberately ambled his way out of the room and down the hallway.
“Come,” said my hostess with a grin as she rose. “You have to see this.”
I stood up and followed as she led the way sedately down the hall. The cat didn’t seem to know or care that he had a following. He turned into a bedroom and climbed up a board the woman had propped from the side of the room to the cupboard atop the closet. He disappeared into the cupboard and we didn’t see him anymore.
“Does he do this often?” I asked.
“Oh yes. He’ll sleep there for hours before gracing us with his presence again. His life consists only of eating, which he relishes with gusto, washing his face, and then sleeping in one place or another.”
“You mean he punctuates his sleep with occasional minutes of wakefulness?” I asked.
“Exactly. He’s such a big pussy cat.” She said it with the fondness of a true cat lover.
It was on that occasion I decided that cats are princes and princesses that eat your food, sleep on your furniture and dictate how you will react.
One time I visited a woman in Twin Falls Idaho on a bright sunny day in May. Invited to have a seat in her living room, I looked at the large wooden rocker and realized it would not be a good choice. The entire seat was taken up with a very fluffy orange cat that was curled into a wad in the sun. I chose the couch instead, not wanting to disturb anything so huge or hairy.
We talked a while and as the afternoon progressed, the sunbeam moved onto the floor and then outside somewhere. While we visited, the cat did not move even a muscle.
The afternoon was almost gone when the cat opened one eye just a slit, and then the other eye until his entire face seemed to scowl. He yawned, displaying a huge cavern with sharp pointy teeth standing at attention in a little semicircle and stretched, displaying his claws on the ends of his extended front legs. Then he slowly oozed his way off the chair like butter that has melted in the sunshine. It took a while for that much cat to actually leave the chair. I was astounded that he was almost the size of a golden retriever, although not nearly as bouncy. For a cat his size I doubted he could ever be animated at all. He slowly and deliberately ambled his way out of the room and down the hallway.
“Come,” said my hostess with a grin as she rose. “You have to see this.”
I stood up and followed as she led the way sedately down the hall. The cat didn’t seem to know or care that he had a following. He turned into a bedroom and climbed up a board the woman had propped from the side of the room to the cupboard atop the closet. He disappeared into the cupboard and we didn’t see him anymore.
“Does he do this often?” I asked.
“Oh yes. He’ll sleep there for hours before gracing us with his presence again. His life consists only of eating, which he relishes with gusto, washing his face, and then sleeping in one place or another.”
“You mean he punctuates his sleep with occasional minutes of wakefulness?” I asked.
“Exactly. He’s such a big pussy cat.” She said it with the fondness of a true cat lover.
It was on that occasion I decided that cats are princes and princesses that eat your food, sleep on your furniture and dictate how you will react.
RSS Feed
