Thursday, July 18, 2013
You know how there are moments in your life, when all the mysteries finally come together. You know what I mean, thereís this little itch on the back of your neck thatís telling you something isnít right, but you canít seem to put your finger on it. Well I had me one of those moments about eleven oíclock the other night, and it finally all came together. I am not the ruler of this house, and to be honest Mel isnít either, though she may argue the point. And itís not the kids either, though for years they may have for a while held the reins for a bit. Doc, forget about him, give him food and water and a place to sleep, heís happy, nope itís a little three-pound ball of fur we call Daisy, and the bad thing is, she knows it.
Thatís right the cat, and if you have a cat you know Iím telling the truth. Because they do what they want to do, when they want to do it and you have no say so about it. You donít believe me, I can prove it, just try calling a cat to come over and pet her. Here you are saying ďHere kitty kitty,Ē and what does she do, just sit there and stare at you. Itís almost as if you can read her mind, ďIsnít he precious, I wonder if I sit here and stare at him long enough, will He get on the floor and roll around, just to get MY attention.Ē
I guess what made me think of this started the other night when I heard something in the kitchen around eleven or so. She was meow-ing for a solid five minutes, before I finally got up to see what was going on. Now I know when sheís meowing like that what sheís really doing is yelling, ďHey get off your fat butt and come in here, I got a problem.Ē So, when I get in there her water bowl was empty, big deal, but sheís still yelling at me. So when I filled it up, did she meow to thank me, did she rub my leg in gratitude, nope, just like usual, she ignored me! My usefulness to her was over.
Sheís this way with me all the time. And if her food bowl is not full, not 1/3, not 1/2, but full, itís as if her worldís coming to an end. Or if her litter box needs changing, itís like Iím not holding up my end of the bargain, hey I didnít go and get her from the pound. But thatís not the worst of it.
Itís the looks she gives me. Thatís like she will crawl up on the back of the couch, and just flop there, with one paw hanging down. And stare at me, and I can almost hear whatís going through her mind, ďYou know I hate you, I hate your guts.Ē Or Iíll walk in the bedroom, and there she is sprawled out on my side of the bed,† Arenít you allergic to cats, guess whoís going to be sneezing tonight? Or like one night when I woke up, there she was looking down at me from the headboard, like she was daring me to close my eyes again. One time I woke up from a nap, and she was sitting on the arm rest of my chair, just staring at me, Iííve never been able to sleep in it again, I donít know what she was planning to do, but from the look in her eye, she was up to something.
But the thing is she hates my buddy Doc worse. Heíll just walk by her, and sheíll pop him right side the head. Or she will crawl on his bed just about the time heís going to take a nap, and just stretch out, ďWhat are you going to do about it?Ē Then he will look up at me, and I have to run her off, because heís too scared. Then she sits and stares at me for an hour, ďYou know you have to sleep sometime.Ē
But Mel and the kids love her, why I donít know, they donít have to be around her all day. They will come in, and she will crawl in Melís lap and just stretch and purr, and Mel just eats it up. Then every once in a while Iíll look over there and thereís that look, that evil smile, as if you can read her mind,
ďSay something I dare you, who she going to believe me or you?Ē
You can reach Robbin Bruce by e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Opinions that appear on this page in Letters to the Editor or in columns do not necessarily reflect the opinions of this newspaper.