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May 29, 2004 Because I have beautiful golden eyes, my first mommy named me Topaz but when my new mother took me in fourteen years ago, she called me Lucy Goosey. I'm glad she shortened it to Lucy because I was embarrassed to answer to Lucy Goosey in front of neighbors. I moved in with Mommy in January of 1990 after her precious Princess, a Himalayan, went to Cat Heaven. She's not a bad sort, my old fat mommy, and being her baby is rewarding. She lets me lick her dinner plate most of the time and feeds me American cheese, vanilla ice cream and potato chips when she buys them. I get cow's milk, too, and that's okay because I'm a mature cat. She talks to me in the third person -- you know, "Mommy's gonna feed you now, Lucy." "Come to the kitchen with Mommy" or "Mommy loves you, Lucy." Gooey stuff like that. I give her kisses once a day. That way, she thinks I love her and I get more treats. I'm a tortoiseshell cat -- a "tortie" for short. Torties, compared to really low-class alley cats, are not recognized by cat fanciers so I’m not allowed to enter cat shows, which is very insulting to me. Mommy says I'm pretty. Or is she just saying that? Hmm. I love to sit on Mommy's lap. She is soft like a pillow. But she screeches when I knead my paws into her thighs. How annoying that is! I like it even better when she lets me sit on her big fat chest. But she only seems to let me sleep on her chest when there's snow on the ground or it's cold out. Is she trying to tell me something? Sometimes when I do relax on her chest, she sneezes a lot which is maddening. This morning, she didn’t wake up when I nudged her with my paw. I walked back and forth over her body and heard her groan. Then I swatted her in the face. That works all the time. After all, it was five o'clock -- time to get up and let me out! When I head down the long hallway, I can hear her muttering, "OUT! Lucy." I pretend to head for the door, but then I veer off and go for the kitchen. Another growl from her! She stands there leaning on her cane, her hair all messy, looking like she's still sleeping while I eat the cold food that she takes from the fridge. I'm sure she goes back to bed after I leave instead of cleaning my litter box and doing other cat chores. Or else, she's gone to that darn computer. I hate her computer and some day I'll uninstall all her programs so that I can sit on her lap whenever I'm in the house. She pays no attention to me and her office is such a mess! I love the summer and most every night I sleep outdoors under the stars. I know my mommy worries too much about me. At bedtime I always hear the "pssst" sounds she makes at the front door, but I make believe I'm not around or don't hear her. Then I know she opens the living room window and psssts there. She's probably annoying my neighbors. If I feel like coming in, I do. Otherwise, I stay out all night. Speaking of sleeping outdoors all night, her handyman is driving me nuts. He works around Mommy's place keeping things looking good. When Mommy asked him to cut down the ivy growing on the humongous tree in the backyard, he also cut the bottoms of the young fir trees that I sleep between and now I'm exposed to all sorts of ferocious animals. I see the same possum walking by -- sometimes with her babies trailing behind her but she ignores me and keeps walking back to her home in the hot house. Once in a while I see a wide-eyed raccoon but I stay away from that character. He's got big sharp talons and a nasty temper. Mommy doesn't seem to have much to do this year. Last year it was fun because she had a lot of men coming in and out of her dining room. So I got lots of petting from them. Talk, talk, talk went on all day long. Most of her visitors like me and pet me all the time -- except for one guy who comes once a month to roundtable meetings in MY dining room. When I jump onto the dining room table and walk around so that everyone can pet me, he picks me up with one hand under my stomach and deposits me on the floor. What nerve! He's in MY HOUSE! But the other nice men make up for his hateful behavior so I don’t complain too much. I want to tell you about this thing that Mommy sticks down my throat every day. It's a long stick filled with foul-tasting liquid that the doctor assured her I'd like. How does he know what I like or don't like? When she pleads to stick it in my mouth, I clamp my gums together and stare into her face. Doc's been sticking me in the neck with pins and needles and I deliberately grit my gums and act like it doesn't hurt. But, I feel like screaming and scratching him. At last, someone's noticed that I've been losing teeth and that I'm not the young pussycat I once was. They're trying to make me older than what I really am. First, they thought I was 12, 13 or 14. Now they think I'm maybe 19 or 20. They could have asked me -- but I'm not telling. I have been eating my mother out of cat food and that's because I've developed something that sounds like "hyperthyroidism." In other words, overactive thyroid. That's why I have a slim figure. Too bad my mommy doesn't get a little hyper-something-or-other. Don't get me wrong! I don't want mommy to be sick. But she should lose a little weight so that I don't lose HER. Did I mention the two annoying felines that invade my territory? One is a black and white male named Thomas who used to live next door. When his mistress moved to another state, she didn't take him with her so he is living nearby with a new person named Nancy. Well, Thomas still comes over to my territory and sleeps on my front steps. My mommy thinks I don't know it, but she brings him in the house when I'm not around because I can smell him. I know he plays with my toys and eats my food! On top of that, he tries to attack me. Ingrate! Then there's this small white and black female named Lulu who lives across the way from me. I don't go near her but she screams at the top of her lungs and hisses me even when I mind my own business. So, she asks for it and I give it. I chase her through the grove of trees and she's all the time screaming. Then she hides in a secret place, one that my mother isn't aware of and will remain a secret. Mommy even lets her come in my house once in a while. I don't like any of this. I don't go in their homes and I think they should stay out of mine. One time, when I first moved in, I brought my mommy a present -- a cute baby squirrel that I took from its nest in a tall tree. The darn thing kept wiggling and shivering and making squeaky sounds. I carried it through the screen in the window that I had ripped open and my mother didn't appreciate that. She hit me with the broom and brought the baby squirrel back out to the grove of trees. I watched while she guessed which tree I had taken the baby from but I wouldn't let on. I love it when mommy combs my fur but I hate it when she tries to put the flea and tick medicine on my neck. She wears these thick yellow rubber gloves to protect herself from the chemical. Yet, she doesn't worry about what the chemicals will do to me. It may keep the fleas and ticks away, but what about me? But she makes me feel not so ugly and strokes me a lot. When I'm sitting on my mother's lap while she watches television, I sometimes hear her crying. She cries at anything that's beautiful or sad or even happy. She's a complex woman, this mother of mine. One big problem though that I worry about -- I sometimes hear her saying that if anything bad happens to her, she doesn't want me to become homeless again and wants me put to sleep. Well, hey baby, she may be going to sleep but that doesn't mean I should be put to sleep. But then, my mommy wants only for me to be happy and I wouldn't be happy without her lap or chest to sit on and all the "I love you’s" I get from her. Yes, can't you tell that I really do love my mommy? That's why I allow her to live in my house! ------------ About the author: Anne Rollins graduated from Walton High School in The Bronx in 1949 and embarked on her vocation as a stenographer. In a few short years she rose to the executive suite of a Fortune 500 corporation but this bit of success, once achieved, left her unfulfilled. In May of 2001 she launched an imaginary tale, Death in a Garden of Icicles, now available at PublishAmerica.com. See Anne-Rollins.com or email: rollinsa448@aol.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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