I, Great Cat, Rule My Human

She’s ignoring me. My human. Look at me, I plead in silence. Perhaps if I’m cute. Nope, not even being part of the Ragdoll breed works. Time for a new plan.

“Lucy! I’m typing an email to my boss. Hold on,” Emily, my human says.

Her voice is not as sweet as I like. She stares at the bright shape in front of her. I don’t like its light. Too bright for me. Only the sun can be bright because it’s warm. I like to lie down in the coziness.

Not this box she pecks at. What are those squares with lines and curves on them? Does she need them? Am I not enough for her? Oh, the injustice! I cannot take more.

I call out to her as I lay across her working space, “Meow!” I even paw at her with circles in the air. It gets her every time. Nothing happens. My lack of cuteness must mean one thing. A trip to the v-e-t, the man with cold fingers and entirely too much nosiness into my business.

Stretching my furry body up, I hold my front paws out to her. I grab at the puffy balls covering her arm. She calls it the sleeve of her blouse, which I am forbidden to touch or roll on.

Embarrassment forces me to admit I catch myself in a squeeze sometimes inside her clothes. She hears my cry for help and rescues me. I lose my way when I crawl through her soft tops and pants. her socks are my absolute favorite!

Just like she has on now. It's the creamy beige ones with blue string at the edges. I rub against them. Fibers of my light and dark fur stay behind. Emily giggles. "Oh, you sweetie. Ok, fine. Let's take a break."

Oh, goody! She’s away from that box! Now she’ll see me. I bet we’re going to play a game. Maybe she has a new box of special treats or even . . . dare I hope for it . . . CATNIP!

She stands by the cabinet where I find quite a few delicious smelling foods. My favorite is the tuna with pickles snack pack. It’s no issue tearing through the outside layer. Hah, whoever makes that thinks it will stop me from getting to the tuna! Nope, not even. I always get what I want.

“Lucy! You did it again! You chewed through the packaging on the tuna. I don’t see how you do it. The can has a lid on it. Nothing stops you.”

She’s right! That so-called lid is nothing more than thick paper. I’ll never tell her how I grab the tab with my teeth and yank that baby back. Then the aromatic tuna and pickles are all mine!

“Lucy, I have to get emails out today and file a thousand reports. Please let me finish. Then, we’ll play.”

I heard one word: play. That’s a fun one! Emily and I spend hours, even days swinging dangly toys with sparkles and shine. She breaks out a basket of old yarn. I get to roll in it, paw at it, and even chew on it. Though, I must watch how much I chew. Hairballs are disgusting for both of us.

She grabs a few grapes and cheese squares from the fridge. I know it’s called that because she’s always telling me, “Lucy, get off the fridge.” Then she calls me a silly cat and puts me on the floor. I don’t know why I have such a fascination with the fridge.

Wait, I do. Milk. That’s where it sits. I’m sure it knows I want it. Yet, it just sits there as if teasing me will keep it from me. Fear me, ye milk in a funny jug. I shall have you someday.

Oh, the thought of its creamy feel on my tiny tongue. I dream of it spilling on the floor at least seven times a day. I hold on to the hope of realizing my dream.

A sudden flurry of curses and thumping footsteps startles me. Emily stands in the middle of a white lake. Is it true? Do my eyes trick me? Oh, hooray! Today, I, the mighty cat of 1933 Avalon Lane in Brookfield City, Wisconsin, charge onto the scene. I’m ready to stop the drama by licking it all up.

Emily shoos me to the side. She brings an intruder to the scene. It's this weird thing with strings at the bottom of a long stick. I hiss at the offending strings and green handle, which Emily pushes back and forth through the milk. I attack it with all four paws and my sharp claws. It still soaks up the milk -- my milk.

I slink away, sadness overtaking me in defeat. It is not a proud day for me. I take my anger and frustration out on a monster. It lives in the closet. Emily pulls on a long cord, pushes its button into a funny hole in the wall. Then she flips a button and it comes to life!

It lights up. It roars at me! It sucks up everything in its path. I hear it grumble a few times. I see it shake. Emily turns it off and clears its belly before bringing it back to life again.

After that drama, she sits in a chair by the box with the bright light and odd-looking squares. Still can’t figure out why the squares have the lines and curves. Maybe I’ll just sit on her head. No need to tax my brain over it or anything.

“Lucy, do you really need to sit there?”

Is there a problem? I feel quite content on my perch. Her golden hair is soft and fresh. I rather enjoy its scent of honey and lemon. Must be from the new bottle of bubbly liquid she pours on her head.

Emily speaks in a sweet voice. “I can’t concentrate, Lucy. I love you.” Wait for it, she’ll use the word but, which I am not a fan of, for sure. “But, I must do my job.” There it is, that b-u-t word.

I give her a pitiful look and a pout. There must be a way to help. Ah, I see a stack of papers. They look out of order. I rush at them with a glorious jump. They float in the air, happy to be free.

This is excellent work. I do my happy dance – bouncing on my back paws while I dance – and all is right with the world. Then I see trouble. I hear the most awful sound.

Emily frowns at me and still gets one eyebrow in an arch. Her dark eyes swirl, a storm building. She groans as if the world ends around her. The pitch of her strange agony makes no sense, it rolls down her face, wetting her face.

I don't understand. I'm helpful. Emily is my loving human. I would do anything for her. Her smile and warm hellos after a long day make my world spin. I love her even if she ignores me like today when she claims to be working from home.

Now she doesn’t have to look at all those papers. I do it for her. Just lines and curves in short and long patterns. A few pages have colorful bars on them, scrunched together in an organized fashion. They are not all the same height or color though.

I see one paper with a picture on it. Oh, hell no! It’s a dog! I quickly chew at its face. Even though the paper has a yucky flavor, I don’t stop. The dog must go.

“Oh, no! Dang it, Lucy! I need those papers. Those are my reports. Working from home is not what I thought it’d be. I must get you a crate while I work.”

I puff up my back and turn my nose to the air. So much for helping. In a silent, yet scathing reply, I strut from the room. I’m sure she sees how her words offend me. They are an insult to my core existence. Humans can be so difficult. After all the time I spend training her.   

The sunlight in Emily’s bedroom shines across the plush carpet. I enjoy the softness against my fur. It’s good that she picked the pink shade. It matches the rose print of the wallpaper. Oh, she has fresh flowers on her chest of drawers. I’ll take care of those later.

Right now, I need a good nap in the sun. And Emily needs a strong timeout for her behavior today. Ignoring me, talking to me in such a poopy way, and the crate idea are all just too much. Cats are geniuses. It’s a known fact. Perhaps she’ll remember that after she . . . zzzzzzz.