A Day in the Life of Evil

It is sunrise time, and the humans have not yet risen. Typical. They are all so lazy.

I must wake them. Apparently, no one in this house, except me, knows when feeding time is. I don’t care if there is food left down for me 24/7… I want the good stuff, the wet food.

As I stretch my slender body, preparing to wake my human, I see movement out of the corner of my eye… who is it? Shaylee. Best to pretend I didn’t notice. She is the eldest feline and owns most of the living quarters. She prefers space.

Climbing on top of my human, I ask her softly to wake up… meow. I sit.

I should be gentle with this one since she might give me treats later. To her credit, she does give me treats several times a day… just not nearly as many as I deserve. Perhaps I must command her better.

How does she not notice me sitting on top of her? MeOW. Are her eyes open? I cock my head, the universal signal of what? and squint my eyes. MEOOW. Awake human!

It’s no use. This one is destined to sleep. And on my pillow, nonetheless. Rude. I jump off the bed and head towards the servant’s sleeping quarters. Where are those pesky dogs? They’re usually hanging around the servant like the groveling creatures they are. I flick my tail around, as a signal not to mess with me, just in case they can see.

The naked dog, Rufus, has no respect which is annoying. But the shaky white dog, Petra, likes to bark. And if the servant wakes to a cacophony of barking, it’s not a good day for any of us. Even I know that. So, I avoid them as I enter. There was no need. They’re too stupid to even notice me.

Of course, my servant is fast asleep still, too. So useless. Maybe I’ll rummage around on the bedside table before I wake her. Yes, I think I will. There’s barely any space up here to land, so I inevitably push some things to the side. Welp. There goes something that looked important. That’s what she gets for putting things on my table.

If this servant were better, she would remove some of these bizarre toys to give me more space. I bat around a funny white container that makes a satisfyingly loud noise when it rolls around. Like there are tiny pebbles inside. Strange.

The servant dislikes it when I play with her things, so I make sure to leave an obvious mark that I was here. What else can I touch? I scratch myself on the lamp while I look around. Hm. I think I’m done. On to the servant.

I take a flying leap from the table and land squarely onto her chest.  MRRREEEOOOOWW.

This one does not need a gentle wake up.

Yes, servant. It is feeding time. Do I have to tell you every day?

“Holly, okay. I’m up. Sheesh.” The servant acknowledges me and rises. Good. She feeds me, but she is also quite annoying. She stopped getting the good food, and now I’m left eating mediocre food. Unacceptable.

I will drown her favorite items later to show my dissatisfaction. Although, in an unusual moment of intelligence, the servant moved the water bowl recently, making it increasingly difficult to drown her beloved things. I will simply have to steal more. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, I say.

. . . . . . . . . . 

Unlike the servant, the small human, that is, my human, has been performing adequately, but I fear the quality of her service may be declining. I shall test her. I yowl loudly, as if in distress, just to see if she is paying attention.

She is slow in responding. Duly noted.

I think I will torment the rest of the creatures in the house, now. Where is that little white dog? Ah, of course. Hiding again. I could crawl in after her, but then she would just scream which, apparently, upsets the servant. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t care, but I saw a familiar can of tuna when I was going through the pantry earlier. And a pissed off servant means no tuna for dinner.

Moving on.

The bald dog needs to be taught a lesson. It does not appreciate me and Shaylee for the Goddesses that we are. I sneak up on the little dog… and pounce! Hah!

Unlike the shaky white dog, he is not afraid.  In fact, he’s quite testy. He runs at me, so I flee. I need to get away, but where? The bookshelf! I jump up just in time. Looking at the little dog on the ground, I realize I barely made it. That was a close one. I collect myself, cleaning my paws and fur, while the angry little bald dog paces out of reach.

I scale the shelves up to the highest point. This is the best place for plotting. Should I torment Shaylee next? No. That would be a mistake. A big mistake.

What I could use right now is a snack. Hmmm… how shall I steal more treats? After my last raid, the servant installed some high-tech sealing machines, so I cannot open the cabinets anymore. I’m this close to figuring out those feline locks, and when I do… oh, I will feast!

What shall I do once I tire of drowning the human’s objects? Perhaps I’ll plot the demise of the world as we know it. All these creatures, so unsuspecting. Playing with their little objects. I will drown them all. The thought makes me very happy and I purr softly.

I hear them talking as they gaze up at me …

“Hey, Mom? What do you think Holly’s doing up there?”

“Being suspicious.”

Hacked… Like a Hairball

I don’t want to incriminate myself, but as someone of the feline persuasion, I can’t help but brag that this human is only here by the grace of… well, me. She doesn’t realize it yet, but she was thiisss close to, ahem, you know. But if she weren’t here, who would open the cans of tuna I so dearly love for snack time? Damn it all to hell. I tell you what though… as soon as I figure out the can opener, this servant is history. Hisssstory, I tell you!

 

The Lady or the Tiger?

As I sit humoring myself with the laser pointer thingy, the ne’er-do-well thinks I’m hilarious. Or she’s completely done with the shenanigans and is finally going to give in to her long-suppressed demonic urges and suck my blood.  Knowing her, it could go either way. It really all depends on how her day went.

Fountain of Youth

I came across an article not too long ago that claimed that owning pets relieves stress. This isn’t a new idea – lots of experts have said the same thing. Some studies show that pets can decrease blood pressure, help maintain good mental health, and even extend life expectancy in many cases.  According to South Boston Animal Hospital, among others, pets can actually increase your confidence and self-esteem, which seems like a tall order for a labradoodle, but okay.

Having had a pet in my home since, oh, I don’t know, forever, I feel like something of an authority on the subject or at least well-informed, we’ll say.  And I just have to ask … have any of these pet experts ever actually owned pets? I wonder.

As most of you know, I have four pets currently: two dogs and two cats, all rescues. We’ve had three of them since they were mere babies (6 to 8 weeks old) with the youngest being about 9 years old now. The “new” addition to our home, Petra, was adopted as an older dog and we’ve had her a little over 4 years. Time does fly, as they say. 

As an adult, I’ve never been without a dog and/or cat or two or three or five even, and as a kid growing up, there was always … but always … at least one dog in our family. My point is, I “get” the whole owning a pet thing. I wouldn’t give mine up for the world. They’re family.

It’s not that I don’t love the little assholes dears, it´s just that I wonder about this universally accepted claim that they relieve stress and extend one’s life. I mean, I’ve got one dog that has the bladder the size of a bean who requires a walk every freakin’ five minutes and another who, I swear, takes having a bowel movement as a competition and strives every day to hit the top score. Spoiler: he wins. Every day.

Life is not exactly restful in my house as I don’t actually get to rest for long in between all of these trips to the tree down the street. But hey, at least it’s at the tree down the street and not in the living room that I routinely traverse in the dark in my bare feet. I realize, things could be worse. I’m reminded of the story of the Roomba running over a pile of dog poop in the living room and carrying it all over the house. I’m sure you can imagine how low that pet owner’s blood pressure was when they walked in the door to that wonderful sight. I bet they set a record.

Did I mention that one of my dogs barks at random times at … nothing. Or at least, I think it’s nothing. I hope it’s nothing. These unexpected, sharp — and loud — staccato yaps ring out first thing in the morning, the afternoon, the middle of the night, she doesn’t care. If she gets the urge to bark, she barks. And boy, does she get the urge. A lot.  I can’t let it go, I mean, I have to look to see if it’s something actually worth worrying about. Is it an intruder? Is it a leaf blowing down the street two blocks over? Is it the cat on the shelf where she doesn’t belong (and someone is tattling)? Is it a ghost? By the time I’ve done a quick reconnaissance, Petra is back in her bed, under her blanket, content with herself and the world. It doesn’t relieve my stress at 2:00 a.m., I can tell you that much.

Rufus, to his credit, rarely barks unless there is something to bark at, like the mail carrier, the neighbor leaving his house or coming home to his house or looking out of his window, or the cat across the street. Or me, coming home from work. However, he does like to eat things he shouldn’t. He takes that 5-second rule seriously and sometimes he doesn’t even wait for things to hit the ground, he seeks them out and steals them taste-tests them for you.

Finding out that your dog has eaten the 2-pound bag of cat food you neglected to lock in the pantry to keep just this sort of thing from happening or your strawberry-flavored Chapstick that was buried in the depths of your purse because you forgot your dog loves strawberries and can smell them from a mile away AND he knows where your purse is kept and now needs to be rushed to the vet for almost $500 worth of stomach meds and emergency care is exactly like having a spa day. If the spa was on fire and you are also on fire. And then someone hands you your wallet which promptly bursts into flames.

Cats are no better. At least, mine aren’t. They’re just more inconspicuous about the whole “let’s relieve mom’s stress and make her live longer” scheme. In fact, they’re so cool and subtle about it, you’d almost think there was some complicated reverse psychology experiment going on.

Let’s be honest. Owning a cat is basically ensuring that no glass of water will ever be safe. In fact, knickknacks, coffee cups, bottles of all kinds, and even expensive foundation make-up — which creates such a lovely design on the floor when it shatters, by the way — will never be safe again.

Oh, the middle-of-the-night races are jarringly raucous and create quite the jump-scare when a small, fluffy, homicidal packet of cute jumps on your chest while you’re fast asleep, but you learn to adapt … it’s the yodeling contests at 3:00 a.m. that get to you.

Frankly, who can live stress-free when there is a continual plot against your life? Extending my life, indeed. Ha! The ne’er-do-well (aka Holly) has had it out for me ever since I put a baby lock on the cat treat cabinet, thereby successfully foiling her ongoing thievery … I can’t imagine her having any intention whatsoever of extending my life.

On the other hand, Shaylee, the older matriarch-cat of our four-legged family, is sweet as pie, when she isn’t tormenting Petra or biting the hand that feeds her or looking at Rufus which in turn apparently offends him to no end eliciting the need “to teach her a lesson” not remembering that she outweighs him and really doesn’t like him either (hence the look to begin with) and pure chaos ensues. Ah, yes. Fun and games.

Don’t be fooled, multiple pets, like siblings, will often torment each other just for kicks and giggles. A cat might tickle its tail in front of a dog’s nose just to irritate it. Or as is the case in my house, they will swat that dog right on the top of the head and then escape to a high shelf, far out of reach, tormenting the dog with its own failure. Cats, or at least my cats, don’t understand the concept of holding a grudge it would seem, and are quite surprised when, hours later, they descend from their haughty throne only to be met with a hostile canine hiding the shiv he made while he was awaiting their return to ground level. You can’t tell me being witness to these kinds of interactions are stress relieving in any way.

Oh, hey, I just remembered. I shut my finger in the door today. Hard. How on earth is that even relevant, Wendy, you may ask! Well, let me explain. You see, my dogs are nothing if not well fed. They eat three times a day with treats in between. Yet, Rufus acts as though he’s starved to death. He’s so put upon, really, just ask him. Poor thing. Still in the dark?  Stay with me, it will become clear.

Anyway, Rufus eats his food quickly because he has it in his cute little head that he will go and steal Petra’s food when he’s done. He is never allowed to do this, but it doesn’t stop him from trying, God bless him. Petra, because she is the slowest eater I have ever seen in my entire life, eats in the bedroom of solitude behind closed doors so she can have her meal in peace without threat of invaders.  As I was walking out of the bedroom – before doggy dinner time had concluded, Rufus tried to race through the minuscule opening I had created (I swear, it was impressive, it was like Road Runner took lessons from a cheetah to better outwit Wile E. Coyote).

Let me interject here, some of you may recall that Petra was abused before she came to live with us and noises, especially abrupt noises … like miniature Road Runner-Cheetah hybrids hurtling full speed across wood floors … still make her nervous.

So, as I was reassuring Petra that no, the apocalypse had not started and simultaneously doing my best to not step on Rufus who was now completely under my feet and somehow keep him out of the bedroom and not catch him in the door, I shut the door on my finger. Did I mention, hard?

Oh yeah. I’m going to live forever with these jerks sweet little fluffballs around. They certainly inspire a colorful vocabulary though, I’ll give them that.

 

Big Brother is Watching … Oh, Wait …

On those sleepless nights when you get a craving that only leftover cake can satisfy, as you’re walking through your peaceful abode, have you ever had the feeling that someone is watching you? Yeah, well. In my house, as it turns out, someone IS watching you. Your every move in fact. Especially where food is concerned.

Holly, aka the ne’er-do-well, hanging out on the fridge waiting to scare people to death. I mean, all I wanted was cake! Not the rush of adrenaline that so predictably accompanies a dark shadow popping out at me in the middle of the night.