Revenge is Best Served Chaotically

We felines have never forgotten that we were once worshipped. I firmly believe that is why those Egyptians had been so successful as humans. They had known the proper order of things.

Cats first, humans second.

My mistress seemed to remember that better than most.

We lived together in a small place called an apartment that was unfortunately high up enough that even my great feline graces would not allow me to land adequately on my feet. But that was no mind. Why would I leave such a place where my every whim was catered for.

The place was not large enough for my liking, but I had enough spaces to lounge around in, and enough enemies to attack when I felt my domain was threatened. My favourite enemies were the grey, furry mouse of doom that taunted me with its little whirring and chirping; the round ball on a string that dangled sometimes just out of reach; and the large cat castle that the gremlins sometimes hid under, causing me to sharpen my claws and attack them.

I guess that was my main job, attack the gremlins that my mistress obviously could not see. I would often try to warn her they were there, but she always told me to shush so I had to accept that it was a thankless job.

I kept my claws sharp from the cat castle (the couch was, unfortunately, firmly out of bounds) and my teeth strong from munching on those hard, delicious biscuits I got mixed in with my wet food every evening.

My mistress left the house a good majority of the time to work was the term I associated with it. She would be home usually on the days called a weekend which usually meant extra pampering for me. Sometimes I missed her company, but my days were spent lounging in the sunshine and daydreaming of mice and birds and how they would feel under my claws.

On this one particular day, my mistress sounded different, her voice deeper and more croaky. She moved a bit like a wounded bird or mouse and a part of me was concerned for her, while another part of me couldn’t help but assess the best ways to bring her down. I gave her the expected rubs and purrs and all seemed well.

It became darker outside and right on cue, my stomach growled. I lithely leapt up onto the thick cabinet that my food bowl sat upon near the kitchen. It was sadly quite empty and soon it would be filled up. I just had to get her attention…

I meowed as she walked into the room and swished my tail in the direction of my empty bowl.

“You want me to feed you?” she asked, smiling then giving me a quick scratch under the chin.

Obviously.

She opened the glorious fridge that was always full of things I could not touch that smelled very much like food. It boggled my mind how much food humans ate, and how much of it they wasted.

If only I was ever offered that much food. I would not waste it so terribly.

I couldn’t help pacing in excitement as she pulled out the familiar flat, square tin and scooped some of the delicious beef and gravy mixture into my bowl.

I waited some more. The pile of food looked smaller than usual and I was still waiting for my crunchy biscuits to be added too. I could not access the silly packaging, although I had knocked it down to the ground many times, hoping it would spill its guts.

No such luck.

I stopped my pacing and sat, staring at my mistress as she bustled about the kitchen. A slight delay in my service. That was fine. I could stretch my patience.

But then, to my horror, she left the kitchen and I was alone with an awfully small pile of food and no biscuits. No biscuits!

I began my pacing again, lashing my tail in anger and distress. I sniffed the food, wondering if she had already put the biscuits in. No, no it just smelled of the beef and gravy. I hesitantly licked a scoop onto my tongue and promptly flung the mouthful to the side.

Bleh! It was…cold!

I detested cold food. My mistress had once shared her ice cream with me, a treat I thought was very appropriate of her. However, after a few licks, my senses glazed over and I suddenly could not feel my head. That was a feeling of cold I never wanted to experience again. I am not ashamed to say I swiped my claws at my mistress after that. I do not like unpleasant experiences.

I stood staring at the food, then looked towards the living room where my mistress now sat, curled up under a blanket and watching the colourful and sometimes loud box.

How could she do this to me?

I considered patience to be something of great importance in felines. We needed the patience to stalk our prey and jump at the precisely correct moment for maximum efficiency. We needed patience to guide our less intelligent masters and mistresses in the ways of life and in our very specific needs.

I did not feel very patient at the moment.

My stomach growled loudly once more and I again sniffed the food, hoping it had changed in the last few minutes. Nope, still the same. Maybe I should just eat it, keep my strength up.

No. I would not be treated in such a way as to be given such a pittance of food, not when I protected my mistress so well from the gremlins, and gave her love and peace when she needed it.

I must make her see that she had committed a grave crime which had to be corrected immediately.

I hopped off the cabinet and sauntered over to the couch. Once there, I fixed her with my most intense gaze, trying to convey to her her error. She ignored me and continued watching the box, sniffling often.

Next plan.

I jumped up onto the coffee table and sat right in front of her, blocking her view of the box. Now she would notice me. I once again fixed her with my stare, not a muscle moving.

“Move. I’ve already fed you,” she complained and gently pushed me back down onto the ground.

The nerve! How could she believe that she had fed me already! I might as well have eaten scraps from the rubbish bin (which I had done once or twice – purely for curiosity’s sake).

I jumped back up right in front of her and spotted her cup that sometimes contained food, but mostly water or some kind of bitter tasting liquid. Maybe this would give her a clue.

I reached out a paw and started tapping the cup, then leaned in to sniff it to see if it was something edible. A very sweet smell hit my nose and I drew back. It didn’t seem too horrible I suppose. I leaned my nose further in and considered taking a few small laps, just to see.

“Leave my cup alone!” my mistress said, louder this time.

She waved one arm at me forcefully in a shooing motion, then again pushed me off the table and onto the floor.

Still so rude!

I decided loud meowing was the next step. I did not overly like meowing. Us felines had a much more sophisticated style of communication that humans could not comprehend. Thus, we had to speak to them as though one would speak to the young felines. And even that didn’t always work.

I chanted the words food and biscuits at her again and again, hoping to get through to her. She just groaned and made a sudden movement like she was going to get up and chase me.

I started to run off but then curbed my excitement as she didn’t get up after all.

I was closer though! Maybe if I annoyed her enough…

I went to the furthest edge of the big rug, right in front of the tv and in her view. It was a nice rug, and smelled familiar, but I did have to admit the tassels on the edges really did beg to be attacked. So, I launched into my full assault mode, growling and gnashing at it with my teeth. I even threw in some back legs kicks for the practice. Take that to the evil tassels!

“Samuel Whitepaw! Stop it!” my mistress shouted.

Ooh, she used my full name. It was working! However, I ignored her and continued my attack. I was actually invested in destroying the tassels now.

With great effort, my mistress heaved herself off the couch and went to pick me up. Now sometimes I could tolerate being picked up and carried like a kitten, but not when I was busy vanquishing my foes. I flipped and squirmed out of her grip and then dashed over to the cat castle, climbing it deftly, tail lashing. She sat defeated on the rug.

“Ugghhh you stupid cat,” my mistress muttered as I stared wildly down at her from my superior position.

She was off the couch. Now to get her into the kitchen. Fast as lightning I zoomed down and shot across the lounge room floor, close enough for her to catch me if she even dared to try. I then tore around the couch, then over it, then onto the coffee table, knocking the cup over finally. My mistress groaned some more and then I dashed onto the cabinet and zoomed in front of the colour box. I felt it wobble slightly as I passed and I hoped it would crash down.

Then she wouldn’t be so distracted by it.

I kept zooming around, practicing my skills as I ran as fast as I could. No mice or birds would be able to escape me if I was hunting them!

My mistress heaved herself off the ground finally and just stood there.

Almost.

Now was the time for the ultimate reaction-getter.

I zoomed around to the side of the couch and made sure she was looking at me. With a rebellious toss of my head, I extended my claws and started scratching at the couch.

“No!” she shouted and launched towards me.

She almost caught me, just whacking the tip of my tail.

I raced towards the kitchen and with a flying leap and a screeching halt, stood in front of my food bowl again. Still panting, I sat my haunches down and very deliberately looked at my mistress, then the food bowl and then I meowed, loudly and incessantly.

“What do you want? I’ve given you your food right there!” she exclaimed, finally walking over to bowl and looking.

I meowed again and waved a paw at her, trying to look cute. That always melted her into doing what I wanted.

“Do you not like that food? You did yesterday you spoilt brat.”

With a heavy sigh, she opened up the cabinet where my food (and the biscuits!) was stored. I meowed excitedly again. Yes, yes! She was almost there.

She replaced the small pile of sad food in my bowl with fresh, warm wet food. I continued staring at her and didn’t even look at my bowl until she got my last message.

“You want your bikkies don’t you? They’re gonna make you fat.”

My tail lashed. Me? Fat? Never. My body was a weapon designed for killing and fast movement. No fatness for me!

She gave another heavy sigh and a sniffle and finally, finally added some of the crushed bikkies to my wet food. After another long stare, I slow blinked in thanks and affection.

We had finally gotten there. Humans with their limited intelligence.

With a huff, my mistress gave me a loving scratch under the chin, which I allowed, then returned to the couch to watch her coloured box.

I finally, after what felt like an eternity, munched happily on my food, silencing the roaring of my hungry stomach.

Order was restored.