Lest you believe the life of a house cat/indoor princess is predictable and boring, I am here today to relieve you of that fallacy.
It’s true that I have selected my favourite napping spots, my favourite sunning spot, and even my favourite human. And I spend most of my days ambling from one to the other, with all the ambition of a tortoise. In between, there are mealtimes featuring food that has the consistency of prison rations. However, any deviation from what I expect to eat has only resulted in energetic mewling at whoever’s opposable thumbs opened the offending can of unfamiliar patè.
Routine is my middle name.
But last week, Father surprised me by announcing a short road trip to Aunt Barb’s house. We have visited once before and although I’m not aware of the reason behind this day-long outing, I did enjoy the adventure.
There is no photographic evidence of my second face-to-face meeting with my cousin, Willow. She is part of a large breed, a Bernese Mountain Dog. If you’d like me to estimate her weight I’d say it’s 2-3,000 lbs. My head is the size of one of her paws. However, she is gentle, and we touched noses, considered each other for a moment and then went on with our days. Although Willow is a filthy dog, and a large one at that, she is calm and didn’t attempt to get me to run so she could chase and likely eat me, or worse.
A warm welcome sign was posted courtesy of my Aunt who is the glue of this family. She keeps the various aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. together and makes sure we’re all fed and warm. She’s a delight!
I scrambled up to the corner of the bed and considered my surroundings. Sensing no danger, I soon willed myself to nap as Father laid out my travel toilet and food bowls.
There was no question of how I would spend this day, however long it lasted. It would be in an unconscious state. The front door latched and unlatched a couple of times. Father went away somewhere but I wasn’t afraid because he always comes back. Sleep soon arrived and took me away.
Later, who knows how long, Father and Mother arrived. Mother lured me from beneath the bed where I had taken refuge following some unfamiliar noises. She convinced me to eat a little and join her on the bed for a belly scratch. I felt safe and loved.
Later, I heard the thump-thump-thump of my cousin’s tail and the happy whisper of Mother’s voice. I knew my filthy dog cousin was also enjoying a belly scratch. Mother simply can’t help herself. She coos and speaks lovingly to the giant creature. It doesn’t mean she loves me any less. If you raise your shirt in her presence, she will scratch your belly, too. (This is a special note to David Beckham, in case he’s reading this post.)
Before we left, Mother dearly wanted a photo of my cousin and me touching noses in a recreation of my arrival which she didn’t witness. But I was not having any of it. Once was enough! I ran up the stairs at the sight of that grubby canine cousin of mine and they got the hint.
Finally, we went home and I was left wondering what the heck that trip was all about. I don’t suppose I’ll ever know. Even a Princess must trust her staff and so it is with me and my keepers. Everything was in its place and before I knew it, I was nestled upon Father’s pillow. I dreamed of filthy big dogs kept at bay, fresh tin cans of delicious dinner and sunbeams to snuggle up in. Perhaps life is a dog’s breakfast but it’s also a cat’s dinner and I have the kibble breath to prove it.