2013 in Review by a Cat with No Name

December 31, 2013.Reading time 4 minutes.

At the end of 2012, Kitty came into our “house of creative naming” as a timid little barn cat whose family had all been killed by coyotes. At first, she hid under everything and full days went by when we wouldn’t see her. That all changed when she realized that the humans around her were just vassals in need of a lord, and she has ruled contentedly ever since. So, for a look back, I thought it would be nice to get her perspective on 2013.

Approach the throne.

I understand you would like me to tell you about my year. As you wish.

First of all, those two dog-things got into my food bowl twice – a punishable offense. When I say, “Off with their heads!” I do not mean send them outside. The two-legged folk are very weak on that point.

This place is nice overall. I have six humans who fight each other to make a throne for me. When I choose the lucky place, the winner taunts the others smugly. They have yet to figure out that I chose by blanket, not by human.

They feed me adequately. But I have decreed that my food shall be whole kibbles at all times and have turned my nose up at it several times when only crumbs were left. I have high places to rule from, although there are still two places in the house I cannot reach. I consider that high treason and expect ramps built in the coming year. My chief complaint, however, is about the big one – the only man-person. He wakes me up far too early in the morning by sitting down with the green thing with bright lights. He calls it his “laptop”, a very name I deem offensive because if I chose to sit on his lap, I expect it to be available. I wonder if his woman knows that he can’t keep his hands off that thing. For hours, he pecks and kneads at it like me fixing a blanket.

I’ve even heard him talking to it, the crazy sot. Other than that, he only talks about his book and blog anymore, which I don’t understand because I have ordered that I should be the only topic of conversation in the house. Nevertheless, he raves about any new country, like Mongolia or Kazakhstan, that reads his blog. And on the rare occasion of a book sale or review, he shows excitement that should be reserved for my Halloween Kitty back stretches. If this doesn’t stop, I will have to declare martial law here and dispose of the green laptop like the pink collar they tried to put on me. Haha, yes doggies, I can see colors.

His first book focuses on a chase for a…. a dog – YES, a dog! Why a beast as silly as a dog would be the focus of any book is beyond me. I understand from his morning ranting that the sequel centers around Virgil Creech’s desire to own a cat named Killer. Good premise, I might read it. I like the name, but someone should warn the lad that you can never own a cat. Just like Aslan, we aren’t tame lions.

Oh, and one more thing. It’s called feng shui, humans! Stop cleaning the litter box every time I’m being artistic.

Happy New Year, humans. I hope 2014 is just purrfect for you and most importantly, your felines.

Waiting out Santa

December 24, 2013.Reading time 5 minutes.

“I’m going to bed, Ma. I promise,” Virgil called down the hall after his fifth warning.

Only he didn’t. He stayed outside his door until things quieted down and he was sure the den was empty. His mother banged away on empty dishes and pans in the kitchen while Virgil snuck back into the den among the Christmas decorations and wrapped presents. The smallish room was so cramped with furniture and pine branches that one could hardly navigate its few open spaces. But the boy had long scoped out its nuances to formulate his plan. This was the year he was going to catch Santa in the act! To do it, he had to stay out of sight and more importantly, stay awake until the first reindeer hoof hit the roof.

Virgil slid carefully past the couch and end table, dropped to his belly, and slithered between presents. His head grazed branches while he deftly avoided low hanging ornaments until he reached the corner of the room where he sat up, wedged between tree and wall with a good view of the hearth. Perfect! He congratulated himself on the effort and steeled his nerves for his stakeout. Then the boy waited….and waited…and waited some more.

After fifteen minutes he was sure he’d been there for two hours and after thirty, he looked to the window thinking the sun must be ready to rise and Santa had passed them by. Never a patient soul, Virgil nearly gave up in just under an hour until he heard music coming from next door where their daffy neighbor, Ms. Jerlene must have switched on her porch radio. Virgil grumbled to himself at the misfortune that distracted him. He tried to shut out the slow-paced lull of the orchestra and focus all his mental might on the fireplace, but it gradually sucked him in.

Virgil shook his head violently and pushed the cellos and violas away for a few seconds. He slapped himself (a little harder than he would have liked) to regain his concentration. He had to do this! His eight older brothers ridiculed him for his belief in Santa, but he didn’t care. Virgil didn’t care one bit. When Santa emerged from the chimney and went for the cookies, Virgil planned on knocking the tree down to seal off his escape! The commotion alone would rouse the family and prove the fat man was real.

“I’ll show them!” he said quietly with determination.

Another five minutes of boredom and the gentle sway of Percy McIntyre and his Band of Renown softened the sleepy boy’s resolve. His heavy eyelids closed and his head slouched against the wall. The next thing Virgil saw was ten sets of eyes looking down on him with gestures of dismay and surprise.

“You gotta bow on your head,” laughed Lomas, the eldest brother.

Soft light from the window told Virgil morning had come and his hope of catching Santa had gone. He found himself snuggling a long present with his back against the wall. He reached up and snatched the bow from his head to the delight of all his brothers. Webster handed him a piece of paper that he took and read:

Virgil,

You’ve walked a fine line between the nice and naughty list all year, and this stunt nearly finished you off. I think I know what you were up to, my friend. You need to mind your mama better this year if you want me to come back.

Merry Christmas,
Santa

“He left this for you, too,” said his mother as she handed him his very own ball glove with another red bow, which he quickly ripped off.

He looked around at the disbelievers, wondering how they could possibly doubt the man who left him this wonderful hunk of rawhide leather. But their focus rested on Virgil no longer. They had moved on to their own things. Oh how he wished he could have just stayed awake to prove it to them.

“Oh well,” he thought as he pounded his glove. “There’s always next year.”

Merry Christmas from Virgil and the rest of us in Portsong!