A day in the life of a cat!

glasses

Dear Human,

I’ve been told you want to know what a day in my life is like. I assume you think that I sit here at the window, patiently waiting for your arrival. I warn you now, the truth can hurt.

In the early hours, I awake whilst you sleep. Apparently 5am is not a good time to play, but that couldn’t be further from the truth; no one can disturb us, it’s all about quality time between you and me buddy, but you still don’t want to conform to my rules. I sense there is much frustration at my actions, but I don’t care, if you don’t play with me, something that emits loud noises, can fall, be dropped or scratched to oblivion will take the brunt of my playfulness. Either way, I’m going to wake you up.

By breakfast time, you will dine on lavishly prepared treats, all of which I don’t understand. Porridge on a Monday because “you were bad over the weekend” and by Friday, a lavishly prepared meat called, bacon. I, on the other hand am fed the same thing every day; dry nugget styled food which begs the question, with all those cookbooks on your shelf do you think you could prepare something more, exotic?

Now our days part, you to work, me to play, rest, eat (more of the dried nugget things) and sleep. You fitted something called a cat flap; it’s like you’re tormenting me with objects named after my species. To add to my confusion, this ‘cat flap’ is also your way of saying, ‘get out, go play’ and yet when I do, you’re not too fond of the mess I bring back. You must treat me as an angst riddled teenager, sending mixed messages is not the best way to elicit the best behaviour from me.

Throughout the day I seek warmth. Much to your annoyance, I climb under your duvet, how you figure this out is bewildering. I proceed to move into every ray of light that shines through these things called, ‘windows.’ They can be a nuisance as I constantly find myself colliding at pace with them, they leave me dazed and confused.

I stretch, the kind of stretch you attempt whilst doing your hilarious thing called, yoga. Phone apps can’t teach you how to be as supple as me, I see the envy engulf your eyes when I’m mid stretch and you’re attempting to touch your toes. Maybe you need a diet of dried nugget style treats you seem to enjoy feeding me so dearly.

In all of this playfulness, I find time to sleep. I dream of a day when cats and humans can be treated as equals but dogs must still be subservient to our needs; don’t bother placing birds in protective custody, or cages as you call them, in my dream world, they sore at great heights, ready to do our bidding.

You return from work, overjoyed to be away from your desk to sit all evening pretending to watch TV whilst reading the latest gossip on your phone. All I want is attention, I will disturb you by jumping on you when you least expect it, this will be when you’re holding a drink of something. Wine, I hear, is a horrible thing to get out of carpets and furniture.

It’s time for bed, for you anyway, I’ve slept all day, I’m good to go but I will guide you to your room. I do this the only way I know how, weaving around your feet whilst you walk. You claim this to be dangerous, you’re not amused, I see it as essential training for the days that we rule the world together.

Lights off, that’s your signal to sleep. I’m a cat, hint as much as you want I’ll still do my own thing anyway.

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