It was an ordinary Saturday. Having had a busy week at work, I decided that I would sleep late and wake up when I was ready. My husband left for work early and I was stretched out across the entire bed with all of the blankets wrapped around me. Snug as a bug in a rug, you might say. I heard the door close as Mister Potts walked out and then all I heard was the hum of the circulating fan moving the cool air around while I lay bundled up. I had barely drifted off to sleep again when it started. Carlos the cat strutted into the room and around the corner of the bed. It was on! He had gotten the dog’s attention and she ran out of the room snarling and barking after him. She came bouncing back into the bedroom as if to say, “and stay out”, which he did not. I swear he stood around the corner listening for my breathing pattern to resume to a relaxed mode so he could start all over again. Two more times this animal nonsense happened and then I had given up.
I started my day cussing. Damn these animals! Most days we would have to pry the dog’s furry backside out of her kennel to get her outside before work because she likes to sleep in. She is not a morning pup. As for the cat, typically in the morning nothing phases him except that he likes to watch us fill his food bowls, yes I said bowls as in plural. He has his little morning snack, then off to sleep he goes. He sleeps by day so that in the night he can work on his agenda. That agenda, by the way, is finding ways in which to irritate me. Some mornings it’s a complete roll of toilet paper unraveled into the toilet. It may even be a roll of paper towels that rose up against him in the night making it necessary for him to shred every bit of its Brawny dignity. It may be about pushing things off the dining room table that he feels are in the way of his 18 pound, fur covered, feline derriere.
Because I had started my day in a less than delightful way, I headed off to the music cave, which I share with Carlos; his pedestal that lets him see out the window is there along with his food. On approaching my keyboard, Carlos was quickly reduced to “that damn cat!” That damn cat has been thinking outside his litter box! He had relieved his bladder near my music equipment, making sure to give each cable that connected my keyboard to the amplifier a good strong dose of Carlos. As I began to pull cables from the back of my keyboard, tossing them into the middle of the floor, El Gato Diablo (cat of the devil) strutted into the room as if to say, what’s up?
At 212 degrees, water boils and I learned on that day that I boil at 98.6 degrees when provoked by the cat. It had been building all morning when suddenly I threw a handful of cables, shouting at the top of my voice, “get the hell out of here! I’ll take your furry butt to the first animal shelter that will have you!” That felt kind of good, I thought. It felt so good, in fact, that I think this world would be a less violent place if people would open their mouths to yell more often. It certainly helped me!
I went to run errands away from home, away from the cat, away from the dog, away from civilization. I say away from civilization because my next chore was grocery shopping. The grocery store is as far away from civilized humans (or pets) as any one could be, in my opinion. I hate the grocery store on a slow day and this was far from a slow day at the store so… I gritted my teeth and wandered through the aisles. As I wandered I wondered what the animals were wrecking while I was away. I began to feel it, it being a smoldering anger that I walked away from moments ago. The more that I thought about my morning, the more the grocery store seemed like an oasis or even a sanctuary. By the time I reached the checkout lane, which was very long, I was nice to people. I even let a stranger cut in line in front of me without shoving my cart into them. (accidentally of course) Grocery shopping was somewhat therapeutic that day.
My husband called sometime later to ask how my day was going. My response was simple. My response was calm as I said through gritted teeth,
“well, the cat’s not dead”
Thanks for stopping by!
Amy L. Potts