Blog Beginnings

Dogs can’t get in these positions.

So all those depressed people out there muttering about a dog’s life this and a dog’s life that are right about dogs. But my life as a kitty is just about the most perfect life any cat could have, short of having more things to tear the throat out of, but I’m a sort of in and out cat, in for the food, sleep, snuggles, all that mooshy stuff, and then after breakfast, I’m outta there. I sneak past mama and papa and high tail it (cats do that) for the door and garden.

It’s a small garden, a little like San Quentin in that there are high walls of powder-coated dark green wire fencing and if I climbed up and over, I’d be falling a good two stories down to the next yard or the neighbor’s garden and he surely does not want me chasing his merle over the worm-ridden terra firma that he so carefully tends. No way, Jose.

And I caught a bird. Once. That’s about it for the hunter instinct around here. Every now and then some other dude shows up, looking a lot like me, snappy tuxedo and all, and maybe we were out of the same litter or something, because I get all funny in the tummy and emit one of those low, low growls that cat’s communicate with to let their visitors (a nice word for intruder) know that I have personally marked my garden with…well…with markers, and that dude ain’t got NO place around here to park his butt.

Normally I do not talk like that.

Mama and papa, who, of course, are not at all my mama and papa but who have become so because we bonded early on and it was sort of like those ducks that get born and start following their keepers’ Wellingtons all around the pond because their mother has been taken by a fox or shot by some real asspole with a very loud scary instrument that stands in for….well, and so the first thing they see, really see because ducks are sort of blind when born, like kitties, as least I think they are, so the first thing in their vision is a big yellow or mud-green boot sloshing through the wet grass or standing in the pond where they are going to float about in life, dipping every now and again for whatever is lurking down there to dip at. I don’t know a heck of a lot about ducks and why should I. What do they know about me, for God’s sake, except to waddle faster when I show up?

So these two uprights are my family. One is a little thing, skinny, if you ask me, but then, I have a little paunch right now and mama’s trying to take me down to size with half-rations. At first she bought some of that obese-kitty stuff, wet and dry, and she tried that out on me for a few days because papa kept saying, this cat was four-plus plus when she wandered in and now she’s five, but he didn’t do anything to get me skinnier. Mama played and played with me to get me to run but I’m not a running kind of kitty. I’m a thinker.

Cogito, ergo sum. Whatever that is