My Life to Date

My Life to Date (1,556 Words)

Just to get this out of the way, I'm a cat.

I'm not like a lion or anything--just an average house cat. Felis catus for those of you with a Latin inclination. If you're into labels, I'm a tabby. I've been given a few names but never made much use of them.

My earliest memory--which isn't too long ago considering I have a brain the size of a walnut--is being in a house with a human. I was young and full of myself and didn't have much use for the human. At that age, I considered the human to be necessary for putting food in the dish and opening the door when I wanted in or out.

Let's talk about doors for a second. Who the hell thought that was a good idea?

One night, I was out doing my business--hunting, patrolling, and biological necessities--and the hunting had not gone well. Were the squirrels getting faster or was I getting slower? I popped up the steps and scratched at my usual door.

The human did not come and the door did not open. I mean... a human has two jobs--JUST TWO JOBS--you would think they could handle it. But no. I could smell the human inside but couldn't hear anything. Which was unusual, he was normally pretty noisy--annoyingly so.

It wasn't like I needed the human or anything, so I went about my business, got some water out of the birdbath and prowled through the night. With the morning, I had had enough of the great outdoors and knew there was a full food bowl waiting for me inside. I returned to the door and scratched again--still nothing.

But this time, in addition to the smell of the human, I smelled death. I can't tell you how I knew it was the smell of death. Must be instinct. We cat-types have that--eat your hearts out.

Now that I had processed my human was dead, I was left to wonder who was going to let me in and fill my bowl. Like I said, two jobs.

It was two more days before the other humans came. In the past, they had visited often enough to be tolerated but not so often as to be welcome. But this time, they might open the door and give me food. And that did happen eventually after a lot of strange noises and stranger people filled the house with lots of movement and flashing lights--everything a cat hates. I hid in the trees.

It was hours before things quieted down and one of the humans--a smaller one although still grotesquely huge--opened the back door and made a loud sound. I assume it was one of my names but when humans speak, I just hear bwah bwah bwah. It's not like it matters.

At first things went okay. I was let in and there was food in the dish. Different humans, same lifestyle. I was good with that. But then, the worst happened. I was put into a small box which was put into a big box that moved and I was carted away from my comfortable home to a new place.

A NEW PLACE!

If you've never known a cat, I'll let you in on a little secret--we are curmudgeons from birth. We hate change of any kind. And this was a big change. But it got even worse. The new place had a dog! A little yippy noisy annoying dog that wanted to chase me. It caught me once and got four rows of claw marks across its nose for its trouble but that didn't stop it. Incessant barking and chasing filled my life.

It was time to hit the road. And by road I mean it was time to start straying around the neighborhood. This worked out pretty well. Three different human places would put food out for me but I had to eat it quickly before the raccoons came out--thieving rat bastards. That food was mine. But not worth fighting about or anything--discretion being the better part of valor and all that.

Then something strange happened. It got really cold and white stuff fell from the sky and piled up on the ground. I went from cold feet to cold belly. There was no going to back yippy dog house so I went door to door until someone let me into a small room. It felt sort of like a jail but at least it was a warm jail. I stayed there through the night. The tall human growled about this. Bwah bwah bwah. But the three smaller ones seemed to be in charge and I stayed each night in the warm jail room while spending the days going from house to house with all of them feeding me. It wasn't a bad life.

I had an interloper cat enter my domain one time and had to show her what was what. The fight was more noise than anything but she avoided my turf after that.

The grumbly larger human left and the smaller humans let me out of the small jail room into the other rooms in the house. These rooms had something wonderful--claw sharpeners. I leaned against it, stretched out my claws, and scratched and clawed. The claws dug in deep. It felt wonderful. The humans reacted to this bwah bwah bwah but this furniture stuff was clearly made for sharpening claws and waste not want not. I wasted nothing.

The bigger grumpy human returned and seemed really animated about the claw sharpeners. His noises got loud and I ended up outside again. It was cold, so I started scratching at the door. One of the smaller humans let me in and made a shushing noise--whatever that was supposed to mean.

The weather got warmer and the grumpy human spent more time outside. This was my home and he fed me so I decided to be a good host and jumped in his lap when he sat down. He put me down. I jumped back up. And he put me back down again,

There seemed to be a failure to communicate.

Humans were necessary for three things: opening doors, feeding, and scratching. Maybe scratching hadn't been so important when I was younger but I really wanted a good scratch now. I jumped into his lap again. He finally got the hint and began to scratch around my neck and ears. Maybe this one might be worth something, yet.

This lasted through the warm time. He came outside and sat. I jumped into his lap. And I allowed him to scratch me until I got bored with it and found something more interesting to do--like seeing which of the neighbors was still putting food out for me.

The warm time turned into the cold time. And, like I said, humans have four uses: opening doors, feeding, scratching. And keeping me warm. We fell into a routine. I wanted in--they let me in. I wanted out--they let me out. They appeared well trained and properly attentive to my needs.

Then the cold time turned into a really cold time and I was kept inside for a week. This was when the humans introduced me to a great indignity--the litter box. There are certain things that a cat likes to do in private. Well, for some reason, these humans did not comprehend such social niceties and placed this pit of sand and despair right next to the back door. One can only hold it for so long, so I relinquished my pride and propriety and utilized the damn thing.

Time passed. It got warm again. Then cold again. Then warm again. Then a few more times. The great outdoors became less great--just lots of running and jumping which was really exhausting. And these new squirrels were like super squirrels--faster than fast. My hunting expeditions were fruitless.

The humans added soft, wet food to my daily meals along with the normal diet and that provided a bright spot in my day. It usually occurred at the same time every morning. If it's a minute late, I let them hear about it. I mean, humans have five uses: opening doors, feeding, scratching, keeping me warm, and providing the soft food on time.

More seasons have passed and two of the humans are no longer there every night. They visit every so often and retain their status as acceptable--at least in emeritus terms. The last few seasons, I have grown to appreciate the great art of sleeping and am very good at it. The grumpy human seems to share that passion. He comes in as the sun is going down, sits down, and stays in one position in front of a noisy, glowing box and doesn't move. The other smaller human never sits still. So, the grumpy human is warm and doesn't move--my kind of place. There's also some scratching involved.

All in all, its an adequate life. Because. Like I said, humans have six uses: opening doors, feeding, scratching, keeping me warm, providing the soft food on time, and being laps.

I guess it could be a worse life.