Hello Internet Humans,
Melanie, my Favorite Human (FH) is still sleeping, so I am writing today’s blog. I honestly don’t know why FH thinks I can’t type. Every time she turns on the computer I immediately step on the keys. I see the letters popping up on the big screen. I mean, humans can do it so it can’t exactly be rocket science.
Whatever rocket science is.
A long time ago, I used to live with another human. It was pretty nice until a second human moved in. He was okay but he brought two dogs with him. These two dogs ate all my food and chased me around the house. Then a miniature human showed up and I drew the line.
That is when I met my FH. We’ve been roommates for about a dozen years now. (And that’s 365 day years, not dog years. As if ‘dog years’ are even a thing. Please!)
I’ve been a good roommate to FH. I let her sit on the furniture and sleep in my bed. For the most part I treat her like my equal. I feel it’s a nice gesture toward staff to make them feel like family.
FH is pretty good too. She can be stingy with sharing her people food but she’s generous with the treats. Like most humans, she can be kind of dumb. Not as dumb as dogs, of course, but still.
So today I want to clear up a few things.
First off, FH is under the mistaken impression she has trained me. Uh, please. I go to the bathroom in a litter box because I’m not an animal. You think I want to smell cat pee in the house? And no way am I going outside in the middle of a frigidly cold night to do my business in front of the neighbors.
Don’t even get me started on the rain.
FH also thinks she has trained me to stay off the kitchen table and counters. I dance on them all the time while she is at work. I would dance on them when she is home but I don’t feel like it. That is the only reason.
Every day when FH arrives home, I am waiting for her at the top of the stairs. I meow and meow and prance around like I’m still a kitten. It’s not like I missed her or anything, but you know humans. They’ve got fragile egos that need constant stroking. So when she picks me up and pets me, I purr just to make her feel good.
And to make sure she busts out the treats.
There’s a few things FH would really like to know, like how I managed to push the screen out of a second story window and fall out. I broke my leg that day and I was really scared. Mommy FH took me to the scary place where the humans in white coats do things to you without your consent. FH would also like to know what happened the day she came home and I had a huge gash on my forehead that required another visit to the scary place and two staples in my forehead.
As much as FH would like to know, a cat’s gotta keep her secrets.
Because there’s a lot she doesn’t tell me. Like why she goes to this place she calls “work” every day instead of providing me with a warm lap to nap on 24/7. Or why I’m not allowed in the garage.
Or why she gets mad when I sit on top of her book.
“I’m trying to read!” she says.
Well duh. So am I.