Sophia's Feast

I am Sophia. I live in the window of my pet's home. She pats me now and then, but knows I'd rather she not unless it's dinnertime. My pet's name is Theresa. She has her own litter and they are all as annoying as you could imagine. They jump in front of me with their loud chortles, forcing me to swipe at them, to which I hear a scream or two, sometimes crying, but at least they back off. The youngest one will soon be like this too, but she's still too wobbly on her feet to touch me. She hasn't learned to jump like the older two. The males seem to need to display their agility in some capacity even if the rest of us could care less. The only male I've ever had time to tolerate was my canine pet, Rex but he's been gone for at least a year. I saw him get hit by a car right in front of our house. Theresa's careless oldest male forgot to grab the leash around Rex's neck and then my jovial canine friend was waylaid. Just like that. I was devastated all day, until dinner time. After that it was kind of nice not having his hot breath pop into my face whenever he wanted to tell me the owners were home-as if I couldn't see for myself. I don't know why it mattered to him. Then again, I don't think canines realize the amount of preening involved to keep fur just so. Maybe if they did a little less worrying about the others, they could focus more on their unsightly manes. They never seem too concerned about this, so I had to keep showing Rex over and over what was appropriate. He never did pick up the habit, poor guy. Though I will say this; his daily buffoonery kept me smiling. His bark, though quite annoying, had begun to grow on me, in that I knew he'd be swatted eventually, providing me with more daily entertainment.

Today, I've noticed something coming. The energy in the room is stifling. I don't see luggage and I didn't hear the words "cat sitter," so I'm assuming there must be a storm coming. The humans have no ability to sense this in their fur as we do. Such a shame. And so it comes across in their kinesis instead, like a freakish weather-vane. There was rain on the way, but not for a day or so. Why, then, did I sense something in my fluffy-white tail? As I licked myself, pondering the question, the sound of the can opener spurned me off the sill.

It was wet food night, my favorite! Theresa was going on and on about how excited I should be about meeting Snoopy. I have no idea who she is talking about. It was all I could do not to rub her shins white with fur while I patiently waited for my food. The excitement in her voice was as irritating as the humming bird who loves to buzz my head every morning on my way to the litter box. The bird knows I can catch him. Why he wants to play with fire, I'll never know, but now it was here, my bowl, my food, my daily perfection, at my feet and I could relish this as the most joyous occasion of the evening. I felt my pet, Theresa, scratch my back and fumble around my ear while my dinner of tuna pâté filled my senses. I knew after dinner I would wait for the second most joyous moment, when my pets go to bed and I would have full run of the house. Frolicking about, covering their scent upon my pillows with my own and working the sides of the couch to its beautiful tufted modelings. I only worked on the side Theresa never saw, of course, or she'd be at me with her annoying spray bottle. I dream of batting that thing right out of her hand, but then, what kind of a pet owner would I be?

At that very moment and with that thought hanging around my haloed head, I heard a giant crash. Scratching along the hard wood floors was a screeching ruckus of the males laughing at something. And then I smelled it. A canine. It was in my house. And not just any canine but the biggest, dopiest looking grey, floppy-eared-menace I'd ever seen. He was nothing like Rex. His terrifying rambunctiousness drove me from my bowl as I found the nearest chair to jump to, hoping he wouldn't smell me. All hope was lost immediately as his curiosity at me seemed to spur him on. I turned from my escape route to raise my back, hissing at him with all the voracity I could, hoping his mountain of a nose would stop it's investigating, but it would not. I heard Teresa and the males speaking and one of them yanked the mutt back from me. Then the unthinkable happened. The oldest male unhooked the canine from it's leash giving him full access. What I saw next could only be described as the most horrifying act. He ran up to me quick, as if he wanted to be strangled (as I surely would), but immediately backed off when he was given a piece of my claw. He then turned his investigative pursuit toward my beautiful, most delicious, only-for-meow bowl, (that's what the words of my dish read - Only For Meow) but there he went, licking it up with his disgustingly long tongue, which managed to wipe all sides of what was remaining of my dinner. I watched as he slurped my divine feast like a hobo, uncouth and ridiculous. He then glanced at me, giving up a slow burp, to come over with his saggy face, droopy eyes, and laughably long ears, to yip at my hissing warning. The tuna pâté still hanging on his breath, I gave him another dose of my paw at his disregard for my feline diplomacy. What a twerp! I've never been so rudely treated.

The sad reality is that I would now be relegated to hiding under beds where all the fun of a night exploring the cupboards and knocking things off from the top of the refrigerator would be replaced with trying to defend my throne at the sill from this imbecile. For my foreseeable future, I may have to escape my palace, leaving the pets to fend for themselves for awhile. I really don't want to, but it would be for their own good.

First, I'll see how tomorrow goes before I make any firm decisions. After all, tomorrow morning's breakfast is salmon-a-la-queen. And if I do not get to eat this very important first meal of my day, I will create a new recipe before I go. Cream of Snoopy.