Welcome to the Machine

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”.

That’s what’s left of one of my food dishes, friends!

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.

Miss Sugar on Derek's grey chair with her eyes firmly shut
I tried not to look.
Miss Sugar pauses on the wooden staircase to consider noises on the upper floor.
It was time to flee!

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.

Ragamuffin description: calm, attention-seeking, good with other pets. Large size. Life expectancy 15 years.
Snipped from Petpedia.co

We all believe that the beautiful kitty above most closely resembles me.

Miss Sugar looking content, caught mid-scratch with her hind paw in the air

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,

Miss Sugar

1 thought on “Welcome to the Machine”

  1. Stryker the wonder poodle has a reply for Miss Sugar,

    “You were horribly treated when you were a kitten. you didn’t get frequent baths and blow outs so you couldn’t get used to sounds like blow dryers which make you immune to the sounds of vacuums. Sadly that didn’t help with sounds like crowbars pulling up flooring or nail guns putting down new hardwood which I had to endure yesterday. Fortunately I had to go to the spaw yesterday afternoon, so I escaped a couple of hours of the chaos. Good luck Miss Sugar. When Mom is running the vacuum, close your eyes and think about salmon.”

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