The Writing Desk Saga
(Sequel to previous blog post: "Desk with a View" from 5/2014)
UPDATE: Unfortunately, Sonny passed away on 1/2/2015. RIP, Sonny - we will miss you. At least you will live on in the blogosphere.)
I might as well just say it. This house is lucky to have me. I don't think the walking animals agree though, especially given my stature. But, just because they stand upright and I cannot, it doesn't mean I am any less, right? After all, I am domesticated and friendly when I want to be. I let them carry me on occasion. I snuggle under my terms. I am the household cat. And I hold this position in high regard, literally.
The house is run by a short walking animal and two taller ones. The short one has a gentle touch, but she stinks. Not all the time. Just mostly in the morning before she leaves. I'm not sure why she thinks she should smell like a flower, but I avoid her by running downstairs before she sees me, and cry at the taller animal's door to let me in. I always forget that she can hear me though, and before I know it, I'm cornered by that ungodly stench during the goodbye cuddle. Luckily, when she comes home later, she smells more like sweaty shoes, and at least I can tolerate her in the same room as me.
Then there are the tall animals. They are much more rougher with me. These walking animals get a kick out of slinging my rather healthy torso around in circles and making hideous laughing sounds, as I struggle to my feet and stagger to find my footing. I return the favor when they chase after me by running them dizzy around the table a few times to see if they tire. Then, just to make sure I get my point across, I sit in the corner and instantaneously shed a tumble weed as their punishment for this atrocity.
But worst of all, the walking animals don't understand my quest for being at the top and routinely try to thwart my advances. So, when they're not looking, I jump up to my carpeted perch and wait for that perfect moment to land onto the highest point in the room - the writing desk. This coveted position is all I care about, and I cannot be swayed. The walking animals usually start screeching at me as I move towards the desk, but I’ll give it a go to see what happens. I can only hope that one of their nice, warm electronic devices are already waiting for me.
I scrunch my legs back and catapult myself toward the desk, all the while fiercely spotting my landing. I gracefully touch down on all fours and wait for a second for her response, but luckily the short walking animal is too entranced with her computer (that will soon be mine) rather than worrying about my whereabouts. So, I meander slowly to a clearing on the smooth surface and slide my belly out from under me with a plop. So what if a few papers swirl away in the heat of the moment or pencils go flying. She can pick them up, or I can chase them around the room later.
As I become more comfortable, I take in the view outside which is quite entertaining. Birds swirl by. Butterflies swoon onto petals. Lizards bulge their orange necks. And I am in pure ecstasy. Well, okay, maybe not totally. It could only be better if I could stretch my neck over and ever so gently lay my head on that heavenly keyboard that knows how to treat a kitty right.
First I start with reaching one of my paws out and show the keyboard how my claws are brilliantly aligned. Of this, I am very proud. Then, when the walking animal seems mesmerized by her so-called story, I quietly stretch over to my prize and claim a corner as my own. Most of the time, she seems to think I'm cute. So, I make sure to scrunch my face up all the more for a better affect. Then, I crock my head back, to make sure I'm in that irresistible position known as upside down and start purring. How could she resist this? I am, by all accounts, absolutely adorable. And sure enough, I receive my bonus prize and sprawl out as much as I can for the full massage. I just love it when I finally take over the face of this old oak desk. It's a good thing it can't breathe, because I'd block off any hopes of respiration.
All is heavenly, until the walking animal drags me onto her lap. How demoralizing. Not only am I not on the highest table in the room, but I am stuck in a coddling position with the only sight being her ugly face as her nose touches mine. I want to puke from her disgusting breath. I beg for mercy and round up my legs for another good catapult, but that sneaky witch holds my legs, preventing me from leaping back to the desk or clawing her eyes out. And why she has to kiss me on my head is beyond me. Her nasty lips always have a little spittle on them which she leaves behind on my fur that I will have to vigorously clean off later. Look, all I want is my desk. It's mine, not hers. I'm not sure why she has to hog it. It's a perfectly good desk with good bones.
Because she has completely pissed me off, I have no other choice but to hiss. Yes, I said hiss. And with full teeth blaring. I just can't take it anymore. I hate being held. I hate being cradled. I wish I could tell her to go find herself a damn hamster. Instead we engage in a staring contest which she knows I will win, so she forces me down, looking deflated.
And here I sit on the wretched floor once again, resigned to being Sonny, the low-life cat. That is until the next time she concentrates on her novel.
(Sequel to previous blog post: "Desk with a View" from 5/2014)
UPDATE: Unfortunately, Sonny passed away on 1/2/2015. RIP, Sonny - we will miss you. At least you will live on in the blogosphere.)
I might as well just say it. This house is lucky to have me. I don't think the walking animals agree though, especially given my stature. But, just because they stand upright and I cannot, it doesn't mean I am any less, right? After all, I am domesticated and friendly when I want to be. I let them carry me on occasion. I snuggle under my terms. I am the household cat. And I hold this position in high regard, literally.
The house is run by a short walking animal and two taller ones. The short one has a gentle touch, but she stinks. Not all the time. Just mostly in the morning before she leaves. I'm not sure why she thinks she should smell like a flower, but I avoid her by running downstairs before she sees me, and cry at the taller animal's door to let me in. I always forget that she can hear me though, and before I know it, I'm cornered by that ungodly stench during the goodbye cuddle. Luckily, when she comes home later, she smells more like sweaty shoes, and at least I can tolerate her in the same room as me.
Then there are the tall animals. They are much more rougher with me. These walking animals get a kick out of slinging my rather healthy torso around in circles and making hideous laughing sounds, as I struggle to my feet and stagger to find my footing. I return the favor when they chase after me by running them dizzy around the table a few times to see if they tire. Then, just to make sure I get my point across, I sit in the corner and instantaneously shed a tumble weed as their punishment for this atrocity.
But worst of all, the walking animals don't understand my quest for being at the top and routinely try to thwart my advances. So, when they're not looking, I jump up to my carpeted perch and wait for that perfect moment to land onto the highest point in the room - the writing desk. This coveted position is all I care about, and I cannot be swayed. The walking animals usually start screeching at me as I move towards the desk, but I’ll give it a go to see what happens. I can only hope that one of their nice, warm electronic devices are already waiting for me.
I scrunch my legs back and catapult myself toward the desk, all the while fiercely spotting my landing. I gracefully touch down on all fours and wait for a second for her response, but luckily the short walking animal is too entranced with her computer (that will soon be mine) rather than worrying about my whereabouts. So, I meander slowly to a clearing on the smooth surface and slide my belly out from under me with a plop. So what if a few papers swirl away in the heat of the moment or pencils go flying. She can pick them up, or I can chase them around the room later.
As I become more comfortable, I take in the view outside which is quite entertaining. Birds swirl by. Butterflies swoon onto petals. Lizards bulge their orange necks. And I am in pure ecstasy. Well, okay, maybe not totally. It could only be better if I could stretch my neck over and ever so gently lay my head on that heavenly keyboard that knows how to treat a kitty right.
First I start with reaching one of my paws out and show the keyboard how my claws are brilliantly aligned. Of this, I am very proud. Then, when the walking animal seems mesmerized by her so-called story, I quietly stretch over to my prize and claim a corner as my own. Most of the time, she seems to think I'm cute. So, I make sure to scrunch my face up all the more for a better affect. Then, I crock my head back, to make sure I'm in that irresistible position known as upside down and start purring. How could she resist this? I am, by all accounts, absolutely adorable. And sure enough, I receive my bonus prize and sprawl out as much as I can for the full massage. I just love it when I finally take over the face of this old oak desk. It's a good thing it can't breathe, because I'd block off any hopes of respiration.
All is heavenly, until the walking animal drags me onto her lap. How demoralizing. Not only am I not on the highest table in the room, but I am stuck in a coddling position with the only sight being her ugly face as her nose touches mine. I want to puke from her disgusting breath. I beg for mercy and round up my legs for another good catapult, but that sneaky witch holds my legs, preventing me from leaping back to the desk or clawing her eyes out. And why she has to kiss me on my head is beyond me. Her nasty lips always have a little spittle on them which she leaves behind on my fur that I will have to vigorously clean off later. Look, all I want is my desk. It's mine, not hers. I'm not sure why she has to hog it. It's a perfectly good desk with good bones.
Because she has completely pissed me off, I have no other choice but to hiss. Yes, I said hiss. And with full teeth blaring. I just can't take it anymore. I hate being held. I hate being cradled. I wish I could tell her to go find herself a damn hamster. Instead we engage in a staring contest which she knows I will win, so she forces me down, looking deflated.
And here I sit on the wretched floor once again, resigned to being Sonny, the low-life cat. That is until the next time she concentrates on her novel.
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