This cat’s life

Chat here again. Since I last wrote, I’m afraid things haven’t improved greatly. The new little human in the house still takes up most of my servant’s attention. Then there’s the yo-yo dieting that’s just not easy to take. For a while they only gave me food in the morning and before bed, over concerns about my “pear-shaped” figure. This being clearly unacceptable, I had to search for healthy snacks in between meals. I devised a method to open the kitchen door (sit on edge of couch, use paw to push door handle), then it was easy to knock over the trash can and hunt for goodies. Only the servant overreacted to my ingenuity and put a chair in front of the door (this idea came from grandpa servant who, by the way, made a nice pillow for me when he stayed here a while back). So now she seems to have finally seen the light and gives me a big bowl that I can graze on all day. I have heard that dirty word again, though, the one that starts with a “v”. I think they’ll be taking me to see that vet person soon regarding my curves.

I don’t even think they were that impressed with my supreme cat abilities (which I don’t charge them for, mind you). The other week when man servant had pulled a muscle in his leg, I put my nose right on the wounded part to use my healing purrs. Or when his throat was sore, I cleverly stretched out in their laps and put my paws where it hurt. But they only seem to have eyes for baby servant. Don’t come crying to me the next time you break a claw.

Can you blame me if I have to use other places than my royal box when nature calls? It’s a desperate cry for attention so they’ll remember I’m here and spend a bit more quality time with me. That's basic Psych 101, people. I suppose the only bright spot is that the baby servant has pretty good manners. She understands my need for tenderness and even if her paws are still small, she tries to pet (or grab) my silkiness. Never mind that she’s a bit too interested in my tail.

Chat out.