Tuesday Sweets With Miss Sugar 10/15

This week, I’ll answer a reader’s question. Yes, I get mail! And I get Facebook and Twitter comments, delivered to me by my second-favourite human: Mother.

There is nothing quite as sweet as slowly falling asleep to the gentle touch of a belly rub. You should really try it sometime. It helps if you have a soft, furry tummy, but not everyone is so lucky. You’re beautiful no matter what your belly looks like. I don’t judge.

Now, to a question from a reader. “Dear Miss Sugar, will you go outside now that you’re in the country and have lots of room to roam?”

First, dear reader, thank you for your query. But the answer to that is a definite “No”! And I’ll tell you why, apart from the fact that Mother and Father both loathe outdoor cats that are free to roam, murder songbirds and poop wherever they wish – usually in mother’s flower bed.

Sugar sitting on the rug, looking up at the camera
2015 when I was first brought home.

When I was a young cat, my humans had me declawed. I can’t remember when or why, or how it felt (thank goodness!) but my hooks were already ancient history when I was brought into this furever family. Upon my adoption four years ago, Mother signed a form that promised she would not allow me to go outdoors. It would be like sending a soldier into battle without a weapon. Raccoons, skunks, dogs and other cats would all have an incredible advantage over me if their intentions were not honourable.

Here in the country, there are coyotes, huge owls and hawks and other creatures that might have dark motives upon seeing my soft form. For all I know of them, the beautiful deer that Mother and Father gaze upon as they lope through the fields are not as friendly as they seem. I shudder to think of the perils that could befall me! Ticks, bugs, DIRT! No, I’m safe inside where I enjoy watching the goings-on outdoors. I’m quite content to not be a part of the unpredictability of it all.

I love having stairs again! I needed to get back into my cardio routine. The ripping of packing tape and crumpling of paper aren’t my favourite sounds but if memory serves me well, they’ll be short-lived. Food is delivered on time and trust in my humans is being restored. We are a family.

Up at the Pinery Market a couple of weekends ago, an old London pal father encountered said, “It’s all over the Internet that you’ve moved 18 times in the past year”! Three times, actually. Upon their return, I summoned Mother and Father for a family meeting. After they were called to order and the requisite words of love were spoken to me, I mewled as plainly as I could that three moves in one year were quite enough. A consensus was reached and I believe this constant motion has come to an end. And now it’s time for a nap. Does anyone want to rub my belly?

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