Are you surprised I know about that, Tamar? I know you guys think a cat snoozes all day in between trips to the food bowl and a few gallops around the house, but I keep up with you all. I do it at night. Don’t forget, I’m only three generations removed from nocturnal hunting in the tall grasses of the African plains.
So how do I feel about all this? IT SUCKS, Tamar. Take the past two weeks, for instance. Two days before Thanksgiving, Ronni hauled me over to Uncle Alex’s place. Don’t get me wrong, Uncle Alex is a nice guy and I can tell he appreciates a cat like me, but it’s not my house and he’s not Ronni - although he does have a big TV I like to watch lying on this sofa…
Even though Uncle Alex has thousands of DVDs and we watched one excellent documentary together about cats in Africa, Ronni left me there for NINE WHOLE DAYS, Tamar. Something about Ronni taking a trip to Pennsylvania and then another following right away to Maine. NINE WHOLE DAYS.
I finally get back to hearth and home where I prefer to stay, and one day later, she takes me off to see Doctor Mary Xanthos.
Now I like Doctor Mary as much as Uncle Alex. She's a nice lady and she’s very good at her job. I was there for my annual check up and shots and she’s so gentle that the only way I knew she was sticking a needle in me is that she said so – I didn’t feel a thing.
But let’s get back to this selling the house stuff. Put yourself in my place, being my size. How would you like it if you were having a nice nap in a cozy corner of the sofa or teasing your favorite toy out from under the refrigerator (great practice in case any real mice ever show up) and suddenly someone grabs you, stuffs you in a bag and zippers it up? Then – out of the house for an hour or two trapped in a travel bag.
Every other day or so this happens. I never know, when I get up in the morning, if I can have the whole, uninterrupted day to myself. And then, when I do get back home, there’s not a toy to be found anywhere. Ronni says potential buyers don’t want to see my stuff - my best smelly old sock, that fantastic-smelling leather glove and my favorite hunk of sheepskin, the one I like to throw in the air and leap for (I can jump as high as Ronni is tall) lying around where I keep them. And sometimes she forgets to give them back to me for awhile when we get home.
How would you like to live like that, Tamar? It’s not fair, not fair at all…
At least when I stayed with Uncle Alex, I knew I wouldn’t be interrupted in the middle of having a good bath.
That buyer Ronni told you about yesterday? The one who reneged on the deal? I’d like to scratch out his eyes – that’s how I feel, Tamar.