From
the Cat’s Journal
The author says that journaling is good for the soul, so I thought
I’d give it a try. My name is Jeffrey, and I am a gorgeous seal-point Himalayan
cat, from a long and distinguished bloodline that dates back centuries. Due to
a series of unfortunate incidents, I ended up at the local animal shelter where
the powers-that-be adopted me out to an author. Not just any author; Anne Kane,
an erotic romance author! The
indignity of it is crushing.
Not only am I forced to live with an author, but a Jack Russell
terror resides in the house as well. And no, that is not a typo; she’s a terror
all right. She seems to have the idea in that tiny little head of hers that she
is more important to the author than I am. She makes me sleep at the bottom of
the bed, and she insists on having the best seat on the sofa, complete with her
own little blanket. It’s disgusting.
Right now, I can tell that the Jack Russell is up to no good. Her
furry little muzzle is twitching and her ears are pointed straight up. She
thinks she’s being clever, but you can’t fool a cat by making puppy dog eyes. I
bet she knows where the author hid those cat snacks. To think that I’ve been
reduced to competing with a dog for treats!
I can tell that the author is aware of the dog's bad breeding and
untrustworthy nature. When the author goes to work, she leaves me in the house,
secure in the knowledge that I will behave myself and respect her personal
property. She takes the dog with her at all times, and who can blame her? Would
you trust a dog alone in your house for hours on end? I think not.
While my captivity is irksome, I have come to accept my lowered
station in life. The author obviously needs me to set an example of breeding
and decorum for her and the dog. She treats me well enough. I have a nice rug
on top of a heating/ vibrating device that massages my fur. I quite enjoy the
massage setting. I believe the device is called a dryer although that term does
puzzle me. I avoid swimming and bathing at all times, so unless I misjudge the
weather I’m rarely in need of being dried.
The author has no such aversion to water. I am intrigued by her
habit of creating mounds of bubbles in the large cleaning tub when she bathes. The
tub has a wide edge that I patrol to make sure the dog doesn’t interrupt her
while she is in the tub, and I can see no useful purpose to these bubbles. They
pop and disappear as soon as I touch them with my paw, and yet there are so
many that you can’t tell when one or two are missing. Very puzzling.
When the author first brought me home with her, I kept to myself,
hiding under furniture and plotting ways to escape and seek out a home more in
keeping with my status, but as time went by, I realized that the author truly
needed me.
I sit on her desk and make sure she stays awake with well-placed
swipes of my paw. I listen to her mumblings as she types, and I’m not shy about
vocalizing when I disagree with a plot point. I also help free up time for her
to write by excising the dog. I drop random toys on its furry little head from
one of my many perches, causing it to jump up and down. Good exercise! Overall,
I am a vital and cherished part of the author’s household. Now if I could just
figure out where she hid those liver snacks!
Postscipt:
You can find out more about Jeff’s author at:
Anne
Kane
Sci –Fi and Fantasy with a sensual twist!
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