Things are going to be different around here. I'm sick of the smooching, the idle laziness of your ways, the incessant fawning for my attention.
Tabitha. I'm talking to YOU, you lazy-arse moggy. Listen up. And get off our bed, while you're at it.
This morning, when you went darting over to the wall, you had my attention. You had me at 'pounce'. I thought you had spied a mouse - for that is your sole purpose in my life... to keep the mice out of sight, if not out of the house completely - because you went flying over there like a leaf on the wind. You even, you little ratbag, darted your paws under the adjacent cabinet for good measure. I wonder, were you thinking, "She thinks I'm useful, I've got her riiiiight where I want her" while you were doing that?
It was all a ruse, wasn't it? There was nothing there. Surely, a mouse would have been seen scurrying from under that cabinet, no mouse is that dumb that he wouldn't try to make a run for it somewhere else. So, as you had me hooked into your little web of intrigue, I moved the cabinet (lucky for you it's on wheels) and let you get in further. And you lurched again. And then you grabbed whatever it was you'd been hunting - obscuring it with your fat boof head - and did the death-shake when you had it in your mouth.
I applaud you, o Tabitha. You reeeeally had me going.
When I stepped around to face your front, what did you have in your mouth? I knew it wasn't a mouse. I heard no bones crunching, saw no tail, identified no squeaks. An insect perhaps, I thought. Oh goody. She's saved us from an earwig.
Nope. Not even an insect. This prey didn't even have legs.
I ask you, Tabby, are you THAT starved that you are now chasing tumble weeds of dust and dog hair around the house? Granted, it shouldn't have been there and I fail to see how an entire hay-bail sized ball of hair and junk can still be freeballing around my kitchen, given that my chosen partner in life swears blind he vacuumed on the weekend (I even saw him doing it, but I didn't see any furniture being moved..... oh yes, that's right, apparently dust doesn't form under couches). But I digress.
You had a honking great matt of dust in your gob. I admit it, I felt a pang of guilt. Apparently, when you meowed at me, at me, at me, at me, AT ME, for the previous fifteen minutes and I ignored you and shooed you away, I thought you were joking around. I thought you were telling me about your dream. Or the errands you have to run today. I never once thought you could possibly be asking for food.
So. I caved. Got the can out of the fridge and spooned you a morsel. RRREEEEOWWEEEEOWEEE! you said appreciatively. Thanks for that. At least I get some acknowledgement.
NEXT time, though, go catch your own dinner. Earn your keep,
Happy blog-flogging Friday, all!
