Tell about your day from the perspective of your pet!
I’ll start:
Morning – I relax in some unraked leaves in the back patio. The stupid one waits at the sliding door for the Dad to open it. I hear him get out of bed upstairs and I know that we have 7 minutes and 32 seconds before the door opens. I tell the stupid one this, but she waits impatiently at the door anyway, pawing at the glass. I roll my eyes and nap for the next few minutes.
The door opens, but I don’t get up. I am too excited! I am playing with a hornet that I caught. I like how it can still move its wings a bit, despite my chewing up on it. Even the stupid one hesitates at the door – she is captivated by the scene. She breaks out of her trance-like state when the Dad pours the dry stuff in the bowl and fills the other bowl with water. I look at the Dad, telepathically communicating that I want to stay outside to play with the hornet for a while. To his credit, he does not say anything dumb like “Marty, what a good little hunter you are!” but just grumpily says “whatever,” closes the door and gets his coffee going.
During the course of his morning activities, I go to the door and telepathically summon the Dad, who opens the door for me. I am mildly annoyed when he says “My! That hornet was bigger than your head!” even though it is true. I do not play the silly cat game where I stay put once the door is opened. Nor do I go in and out, in and out, in and out... These games are for lesser cats. Or at least they are for cats who don’t have a Dad that will just slam the door in one’s face and leave one outside all day. I have learned that some behaviors in the Dad are impossible to correct despite my best efforts at training, so I just kind of go with it.
Anyway, I get in. When we go in together, I always make sure that the stupid one eats first. Today, since she has already been in a while, I do not wait. After my meal, I allow the Dad to rub my head a bit, then I burrow under the rug. It is cool and comfortable there.
I am still under the rug when he comes home in the afternoon. He says “Good afternoon, Marty, Inky” to us. I telepathically say “I’m not here,” but he seems to always know where I am hiding. If the kid is with him, she will want to play with me, but usually just lifts the rug up a bit to say hi, then lets me be for a while. If the Dad has piano lessons to teach, I welcome going upstairs to the Kid’s room to play. Outside of my immediate pride, I do not like people. The stupid one does. I do not understand this about her. She will just stay downstairs at the lesson, then afterward, allow herself to be pet by these strange students of the Dad. Though I don’t understand this behavior, I have come to accept it and appreciate it. Her desire for human affection allows me to go off somewhere where I am not bothered.
Once or twice a week, the Dad watches stuff on the glowbox. He lies on my couch and the stupid one will lie on his stomach. I will come up to him and let him scratch my head. Sometimes at night the Dad and I will play the bite game, or the stupid one and I will wrestle up and down the stairs. That is almost as fun as the red dot game! Later, the Dad opens the door to let us out at night. We never tell him what we are up to during those hours. That would be breaking the sacred feline code.
I’ll start:
Morning – I relax in some unraked leaves in the back patio. The stupid one waits at the sliding door for the Dad to open it. I hear him get out of bed upstairs and I know that we have 7 minutes and 32 seconds before the door opens. I tell the stupid one this, but she waits impatiently at the door anyway, pawing at the glass. I roll my eyes and nap for the next few minutes.
The door opens, but I don’t get up. I am too excited! I am playing with a hornet that I caught. I like how it can still move its wings a bit, despite my chewing up on it. Even the stupid one hesitates at the door – she is captivated by the scene. She breaks out of her trance-like state when the Dad pours the dry stuff in the bowl and fills the other bowl with water. I look at the Dad, telepathically communicating that I want to stay outside to play with the hornet for a while. To his credit, he does not say anything dumb like “Marty, what a good little hunter you are!” but just grumpily says “whatever,” closes the door and gets his coffee going.
During the course of his morning activities, I go to the door and telepathically summon the Dad, who opens the door for me. I am mildly annoyed when he says “My! That hornet was bigger than your head!” even though it is true. I do not play the silly cat game where I stay put once the door is opened. Nor do I go in and out, in and out, in and out... These games are for lesser cats. Or at least they are for cats who don’t have a Dad that will just slam the door in one’s face and leave one outside all day. I have learned that some behaviors in the Dad are impossible to correct despite my best efforts at training, so I just kind of go with it.
Anyway, I get in. When we go in together, I always make sure that the stupid one eats first. Today, since she has already been in a while, I do not wait. After my meal, I allow the Dad to rub my head a bit, then I burrow under the rug. It is cool and comfortable there.
I am still under the rug when he comes home in the afternoon. He says “Good afternoon, Marty, Inky” to us. I telepathically say “I’m not here,” but he seems to always know where I am hiding. If the kid is with him, she will want to play with me, but usually just lifts the rug up a bit to say hi, then lets me be for a while. If the Dad has piano lessons to teach, I welcome going upstairs to the Kid’s room to play. Outside of my immediate pride, I do not like people. The stupid one does. I do not understand this about her. She will just stay downstairs at the lesson, then afterward, allow herself to be pet by these strange students of the Dad. Though I don’t understand this behavior, I have come to accept it and appreciate it. Her desire for human affection allows me to go off somewhere where I am not bothered.
Once or twice a week, the Dad watches stuff on the glowbox. He lies on my couch and the stupid one will lie on his stomach. I will come up to him and let him scratch my head. Sometimes at night the Dad and I will play the bite game, or the stupid one and I will wrestle up and down the stairs. That is almost as fun as the red dot game! Later, the Dad opens the door to let us out at night. We never tell him what we are up to during those hours. That would be breaking the sacred feline code.
