That woman came home this evening smiling down at me while I was taking my daily cat nap. Being that I’m over 90 years old in cat years, I feel entitled to one or a dozen such naps in a day.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I remember now, That human female came into my room and presented me with something inside a shopping bag.
“Happy Birthday!” She told me with her wicked smile, a smile I would dearly love slapping with my outstretched claws. She too is old as evidenced by her white hair and the wrinkles on her face, a hideous woman.
The man who is her mate, I like him. He is sweet and gentle, rubs my chin and neck just right, and gives me a thrill whenever he runs his hand down my back as if giving me a wonderful massage. They call each other ‘honey.’ I don’t know why.
I looked at her with my most disgusted stare imaginable and meowed at her with contempt. “What is it?” I demanded. I meowed at her again. “You woke me up, plus if my memory serves me right, I was born in the spring. It’s autumn you stupid cow.”
But she just smiled at me as if I didn’t know what I was talking about and pulled from this plastic bag, which I would have playfully shredded years ago, a box looking contraption. “A new litter box for you! Isn’t it wonderful?”
A litter box? When I absolutely have to do my personal business, I meow my command to be let outside so I can dig a hole in the flower bed and complete my necessary affairs. I hate litter boxes ever since I was a kitten. Now, I think she has lost her mind.
First, she and ‘honey,’ move us: me, those obnoxious birds, that dog and all of the other stuff into a van and take us halfway around the world to this place where strange and interesting new creatures greet me, along with more dogs and cats than I could shake a stick at. I tolerate it, but don’t like it. I am no longer queen of my domain anymore. Instead, I am a peon.
I watched this mad woman put the cat box together and filled it with cat litter. Of course, when she is finished, she expects me to obey her command to flop myself inside and do my business, while she watches me. I don’t think so!
Instead, I just looked at her with indignation that she would even consider that I would behave like a common lap dog and willingly go where she commanded. I have my pride and dignity to uphold. After many fruitless attempts, she gave up and left the room.
My keen sense of hearing zoned in on her conversation with the woman she called Mom and ‘honey’ calls Lillie, as she complained, “That cat won’t have nothing to do with that box! She wouldn’t go near it.”
The ancient woman ‘honey’ called Lillie replied, “She’ll come around eventually. Winter is coming and we don’t know for sure how bad it will be.”
“Winter?” I meowed in outrage. I almost forgot. Back where we came from, I had to endure the cold, the snow that piled so high I had to literally jump about to get to where I needed to go. And those idiots who drove with such reckless abandon. I don’t know to this day how I survived some of those winters up there. Here? Like that old woman said, no one knows.
While she was out of the room, I did check it out. It was a bit roomy, even for a litter box. It smelled new and clean, which I didn’t mind. I pawed at the granules. That too was fresh and smelled enticing. I squatted down and unleashed some urine that I had been holding to have an excuse to go outside. I suppose it will do for now. I just won’t give her the satisfaction that I liked this cat box.