Friday, 20 December 2013

Thoughts of a Jellicle Cat

("Do I actually see with my own very eyes, a man who's not heard of a Jellicle Cat?"
Cats, London's West End 1998. Image from

For the sake of amusement and a bit of good cheer for the festive season (Bah humbug!) I realised there is one individual in my life who’s viewpoint does not get an airing.

Enter Her Most Furry Whimsicality, who’s taking over the blog for the week to give you a cat’s eye of view of life with a Spoony on your staff.

Day one
It is the weekend and the humans have been asleep for far too long, it is past my breakfast time. Mum needs to sleep a lot, but this is unacceptable.

Apparently my walking up Mum and sticking my claws in every so often isn’t something she enjoys. You would think they would appreciate my taking over the duties of their alarm which failed to go off as it usually does.

Day two. 
The humans are watching Doctor Who. I approve of this episode as there are cat people. However I am not sure what is going on with their headwear, or why they insist on walking on their back legs alone.  If the Doctor and his companion were my staff there would be none of this running off to save the world nonsense. It is our duty as superior beings to keep our humans in line. Their failure to do so is disappointing.

Mum is sitting under a blanket again. She doesn’t seem to understand that blankets are for sleeping on.  If she grew fur she wouldn’t get cold.

Day three 
Mum is not well again. Even for a human she is sickly; I would think about acquiring new staff except she’s been around for a while and she isn’t entirely without merit. Dad asked me why I hadn’t been looking after her. The fact I was asleep in the chair moments before is entirely irrelevant. He was not around to see the events of this afternoon.

I spent a good hour defending Mum from the Red Dot of Doom. Someday I will figure out why she was waving the grey stick in her hand whilst this was going on. This is why cats are superior to dogs – dogs bark at an intruder, we are cunning enough to sneak up on it silently. One day I will catch it!

Day four
Dad is out and there is only Mum in the house. She has the nerve to ignore me in favour of the light box on her desk, with the rows of buttons and “mouse” attached to it (it doesn’t look like any mouse I’ve ever seen). This is something she does every week on the same day, and this is perplexing. 

I will trick her. She is always cold so I will jump on her lap in pretence of a cuddle, within easy reach of the rows of keys which I will then sit on. I don’t understand why this provokes exasperation – she should have been paying me attention in the first place and I am merely arranging things so she doesn’t have to move in order to do so. I am entirely considerate of the fact Mum is not a human specimen at the peak of their already limited capacity. When it suits me to be.


Day five
Mum is exercising. I do not understand why humans do all this moving to and fro and on the spot, getting sweaty and out of breath. When I want to exercise I sneak up on and chase something I want to eat. Now she is bouncing on one foot and kicking the other behind her. How strange.

I really like the look of that spot by Mum’s left foot. The pipes are under there and they are warm. I think I’ll go sit there. Surely the humans do not need me to announce my presence for them each time I want to sit somewhere else.

.... she fell on me. There are no words in Elvish, Entish or the tongues of cats for how embarrassing this is.

Day six
The humans are playing a with some sort of board, and Mum is wearing the the gloves that feel funny. Apparently they keep her hands warm (as if I have not already expressed that fur is the answer). There are tiny people on the board and the humans keep moving them.

.... my joining in was not appreciated. Apparently "it messed up the game". If one of them had explained what "chess" is then the confusion could have been avoided. When I chased one of the offending little people across the carpet, Dad said "Give me the rook back!". It looks nothing like a bird, silly human.

However, I have my chair back!

Day seven
Both the humans are using the light boxes again. This seems to be what they do when they are too tired for other things. This is most perplexing. I will have a look at the boxes up close; I need to see what all this unnecessary behaviour is about.

Mum’s box has something to do with a ring, a made up land where there are clearly not enough cats and something about not simply walking into a place called “Mordor” on it. I fail to see the entertainment value in this. I shall inspect Dad’s.

Hmph. This is somewhat similar. There are lots of little humans running about with fancy swords and talking about “guilds” and something called “loot”. My staff are very stra-

.... that creature on the light box just tried to run away! You leave me no choice, box creature. Your doom is at hand!

... there is an invisible force field stopping me getting into the box. My nose hurts.

Eight out of ten, Misty. Back to the day job!

This is my last post before the New Year, so I wish everyone a lovely Christmas and New Year, and as always many spoons xxx

1 comment:

  1. Ahh I loved this. Very warming and funny. One of my cats takes full advantage of fibro fog and begs for treats when he has already gotten them. He also knows if he can outrun me and overpower me. Thanks for the post-Morgan