OMC, Kitties! It's 11:44 p.m. and I can't miss another Sunday! Misty May will worry I don't love her anymore. I think I'll make it! Uh-oh: 13 minutes! Hope all the Daddio's--feline and Human--had a great day!
She's back. Finally. For weeks and weeks days and days, it's been wedding-this and wedding-that, and at long last all the events are over, the deed is done and the niece is a married lady and off cavorting with The Husband in Montreal. All of this was of no concern to me, but it is good to have the Human at my beck and call again. Really, I never think it is acceptable for her attention to be elsewhere. Amirite?
Yes, cough, cough, I see you over there in Finland(N), chortling into your lakka about my advancing years. And I do have some silver threads among the ebon; I am quite proud of them, too, as they indicate my growing wisdom and maturity. I am a teenager now (13, to be precise) and unlike Humans of that callow age, I am a venerable elder, to be listened to and obeyed. Got that?
And with good reason too. It is the Week of Abandonment (aka "Graduation") and You-Know-Royal-Who has slipped down on the list of priorities. Oh yes, I get *fed,* and sometimes she waves as she breezes through. She says that's as good as it will get until Caturday. A Boy could expire from loneliness by then, surely. Well, perhaps not. I am good company for myself.
While I enjoyed a nice afternoon nap on Wednesday, the Human and her friend drove down to a WWI-vintage country estate on the Peninsula called Filoli*, which is now part of The National Trust for Historic Preservation. They toured the fancy old house and wandered through the formal gardens, which are filled with . . . um . . . some things the Humans call Art. Uh-huh. Okay. Why not?
Like this for instance. We think the name of this piece is Worst Nightmare of the Trout Towne Tabbies, mwah hah hah. Apparently the actual title is "Searching," and it can be yours for $6500. Anyone? Anyone?
Right. We didn't think so.
*The rather odd name of the place came from three words in the original owner's credo: Fight for a just cause; Love your fellow man; Live a good life. All right, we can cosign onto that.
I was feeling all warm and stretchy and relaxed when suddenly the Human said, "Spitty!Did you eat Pinkie and poop him out again?" "Of course not," I replied indignantly. But really, so what if I had? What business is it of hers?
Yes, Kitties, it has come to this. I must needs nap away my days, starving, unloved and unplayed-with* as the Human spends all her waking hours and what little energy she possesses at her advanced age at her loathesome (to me) j-o-b. Oh, she talks a good game ("It'll be summer soon, Spitty, and we'll have a good time then, Spitty"), but I have excellent reason to be skeptical. Promises are cheap and follow-through far from guaranteed. At least she *was* helping me post, till last Tuesday, that is. Then even my single line to the outside world was unceremoniously severed. Oh, the Humanity! It's an outrage is what it is.
Some days, I find it's best to just burrow into my comfy cave and tune out the tumult and the shouting of the Human world and its "news bulletins." If they actually mean something, they'll still be there tomorrow, and if they don't, best not to hear them and fret unnecessarily. And honestly, is necessary fretting even a thing? I think not.
Last December, the Swiss Cats sent me all sorts of VeryFinePresents, among them this Christmas Blanket, to which I have become irrationally* attached (*the Stoopy Human's term, not mine, I hasten to assure you). A few weeks ago, she threatened to "put it away" to which I said, "Go ahead. I dare you." Q.E.D. Heh, heh.
Happy Spring to All Creatures Greatand Small. It's time for window whiffies and electric fans. It was over 80° again today, but not for long and the temp is dropping fast (sorries East Bay neighbors). Life is good again.
Newsflash: It was over 80° today. No, no, no, no, no! Spitty has not approved such a$$hattery and wishes to file a complaint with the Proper Authorities. The Human says that is not her and really there is probably no one who can help me. That doesn't sound right, though, does it? Wasn't it that stoopy Apollo guy who drove the sun across the sky? He prolly has a cell number. Anybody got it? Maybe I could text him.
During spring break, I came to allow the Human unusual liberties. She was allowed some lap time, she was allowed to walk right up and pick me up, she suffered not a single wound. However, spring break came to a crashing halt last Monday. The rules have reverted to their usual state: Do not stalk me, do not pick me up, do not expect a warm welcome when you suddenly reappear after 10 hours. Got that? Color me suspicious.
I really don't see how she can, do you? I sat in the hallway this morning and gazed mournfully at her as she backed furtively through the door, ashamed. As well she should be. She told me tonight that tomorrow the drama class and the a cappella singers are having their spring performance and she will be staying at school till Cod only knows when. I will probably starve, right? But she'll have seen her show and so it will have all been worth it.