Hello my purrfect readers. What an eventful week it’s been for your favourite feline blogger. Pull up a footstool, relax your tail and let me tell you all about it.
Mother had a case of what Grandmother calls, “the dropsies”.
I dine from a collection of white Corelle bowls. Doesn’t every beloved cat? Also, I have special spoons and a placemat. The smooth and generously-sized bowls literally take a licking and wash up well. However, they don’t survive a fall of four feet.
Fortunately, she buys in bulk and most of my dishes have survived her clumsiness. So far.
She also made a major purchase this week without consulting me. The Dyson Big Ball Cinetic Multi Floor noisy murdering machine is now a permanent part of this household. I heard her exclaim things such as “25% off” and “racking up the points”. None of that matters to me. Mother claims it’s necessary for the removal of my gorgeous fur. I do my best to decorate and she insists my stray hairs are not to her taste. But, I still believe the machine is a demon sent from hell to frighten a hairball out of me.
Despite my best effort at thinking of other things – fuzzballs on strings and dancing laser lights – I couldn’t ignore the horrific rumble.
With due respect to my feline friends who have endured genuine traumas, I confess to acquiring a mild form of PTSD. It stems from an incident that occurred during our brief time as Wallaceburgers.
Mother caused the old, loud death-wish machine in the living room to start up. She began to push it back and forth on the rug like a crazy person. Gingerly, I made my way to the staircase to seek my shelter on the upper floor. However, upon my arrival up 12,000 steps what did I encounter? Father with ANOTHER loud death-wish machine, pushing it back and forth across the hallway rug! Such a fright! I’ve never forgotten it and ever since have proceeded with extra caution up or down the stairs. As I escape one horrific sound, I only hope I’m not getting closer to a second one.
Fortunately, we appear to be a one-vacuum family again.
On another note, I have a new nickname: Ragamuffin. For those of you keeping track, I’m now addressed in a variety of ways. Sugar, Missy, Miss Sugar, Sweetie, Girlie Girl, and now Ragamuffin. The latest addition comes from my humans investigating my breed. Fifty of the world’s most popular cat breeds are posted in an infographic at Pedpedia.co.
We all believe that the beautiful kitty above most closely resembles me.
However, I aim to defy the “life expectancy” portion of the description for I am already 15 cat years old. It’s my wish to become the Kirk Douglas of kitties. According to experts, I’ve already attained the human age of 76. Just 7 more years to go!
Until next week, I hope you always land on your feet! With love and kibble breath from your favourite Ragamuffin,