I walk up to the living room window to find a large and scary Russian Blue alley cat pounding on the glass. I gulp, a Russian.
“May I help you?” I squeak.
“I just beat up the Bulldog next door and I need a place to hide. ”
“Salem, it’s for you!”
I’m napping in the living room when I hear our human walk into the kitchen. Salem and I hop up at the same time and trot in after her. Time to wrangle some treats. I sit patiently by my food dish. There’s no need to beg. She’ll get the hint.
Salem walks over, purring like a freaking 18-wheeler, and starts rubbing against her legs.
I glare at him, “Really? You’re such a suck-up.”
He throws me a grin. Geez, whatever, that won’t work. She’s too smart for that crap. Then her hand reaches down and pets him. Well, la tee freaking da. “Big deal, you didn’t get any…” then she gives him a treat. Oh my God! I wish you would just die already. Death by hairball. You think you’re such a big deal because she pets you all the time. I only let her pet me when I feel like it. It’s a choice, asshole! I throw him my “I hate you” eyes and start to flip him my paw when …clink, clink, a treat drops into my bowl.
“Look, a treat.” I smile and eat my Friskies. Now, what was I doing?
Salem and I are lounging by the back window when a sudden screeching sound followed by loud hissing gets our attention. We simultaneously turn to look. A fight has broken out in our backyard.
Sitting on the grass is a dish containing extra large chunks of tuna, and next to it are two unknown alley cats from the area going at it like Evander Holyfield and Mike Tyson! As we watch the scuffle, one cat seizes the other and bites him on the ear, drawing blood! Salem points a paw, “Did you see that?!”
“Yeah,” I murmur, trying to keep my Kibble from coming back up.
We both gasp as tufts of fur fly about like confetti. But like some horrendous car crash, we can’t seem to turn our eyes away and continue to watch in shock.
The hissing stops, and a series of low growls follow. And then, as suddenly as it started, one feline breaks away and sprints off. The other one slowly eats the tuna with his ears pinned back and his eyes darting around.
Salem looks at me and whispers, “That. Was. Intense.”
I exhale, “I know, did you see that tuna?”
Bored, I walk over by the window to play with my favorite toy. Then I spot something out of the corner of my eye.
I nod, “Well, well, well, what have we here?” There’s a cute little calico walking by.
“Wait, wait!” Oh crap, she saw me pick up this stick toy and is walking away before I can pretend that I was just moving it over!! Noooooooooooo!!
“Well, that’s it. She thinks I’m a moron.”
Salem walks up and smiles, “Nah, she thinks you’re a moron that plays with stick toys.”
I look down at my bowl and then at Salem, “Our dinner is late again. We have to do something about this. Now.”
“You’re right. You go scratch up her sofa and I’ll stand by and bore holes through her with my eyes.”
“Why do I have to do the hard part? She might get mad.”
“Because I have delicate features. I could never survive on the outside.”
I look at him, “Outside? You think she might ban us to the outside?”
“There are spiders outside,” I glance tentatively out the window.
“Okay. I say we let this one slide, but I have my eyes ready. Next time my dinner is late, she gets my ‘This Kibble is lukewarm and late and about to be flying across the room’ stare.”
I nod in agreement and hurriedly eat my Kibble before a spider appears in the window.
I’m sitting at the window, chatting with my friend, Chip, a chipmunk who lives at Plath Cottage next door, when I see a dog down the road.
“Sometimes I think my human would have preferred that I was a dog instead of a cat,” I ponder aloud, “I often feel like I’m letting her down in some way, and I can never live up to her expectations.”
“Really? How?” Chip’s eyes look into mine as if he himself is searching for the same answer.
“Well, she’s spent years trying to train me to fetch that felt ball over there.” I point a paw to the corner of the room where a faded old brown ball lays, unused. “I do try to follow her finger when she points, but I can never quite figure out what she’s pointing at. We just both end up being frustrated and saddened by the experiences.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” He tenderly pats my back, in an effort to console me.
“I finally mastered it, though,” I resume.
“Oh, so you learned how to fetch it, huh?”
“God, no,” I laugh, “I learned how to live with her disappointment.” I smile, “It’s really easy once you get the hang of it.”
There’s a cute Maine Coon that walks through my yard each afternoon. I’ve been working up the nerve to talk to her all week. It’s not as easy as it sounds, actually, but I’ve been practicing. I’ve gone over it several times in my head, and when Salem isn’t around, I practice it out loud.
“Hi, your fur looks amazing today.”
“Hi, your fur looks amazing today.”
“Hi, your fur looks amazing today.”
Okay, here she comes. I got this. I can do it. She walks up, and I take a deep breath and exhale, “Feather. I licked a feather yesterday.”
I hang my head as she walks on past. Yep, that’s about right.
When my brother, Salem, pushes my buttons, I immediately revert back into my five-year-old self. Sensing that this same phenomenon must be happening to him, I decide to use it to my advantage.
Salem has a third date with Tabby today. A third! It kind of annoys me. So when she comes over to see him, I say “Hi” in my most mature and polite voice.
Salem struts up and throws out a, “Hey,” all casual like, as though he had no previous plans with her, and this is all spur of the moment. I cringe inside. So, while they are talking, I stick my paw out and just ever so slightly touch him.
He cuts his eyes at me but continues his conversation unfazed. A second later, I slowly extend my paw and just barely graze his fur with the tip of my claw. His lips tighten, and he throws me another warning look. You know, the one that says, “I will tear your head off if you do it again.”
So, I do it again.
This time he loses it. A minute later, he’s sitting on my chest and holding my bottom paws to my nose and sneering, “Smell it! Smell those dirty paws!” I smile.
Then I glance over at Tabby, who is standing there, eyes bulging and mouth hanging open at the sight of her date: five-year-old Salem. That’s when I know my work here is done.
God, I love being a sibling.
I see my little brother Salem heading for the water dish, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
He pauses in front of the dish, “Why? What’s wrong?”
I smile and launch into my spiel, “Well, earlier, my tummy wasn’t feeling good, so I went to the litter box. After that, I, of course, cleaned up. But that left my mouth dry and parched, so I drank some water. So, if you drink that water, it’s basically like you…”
Salem holds his paw up, “Stop. I beg of you not to finish that sentence.”
He turns his head to the side and dry heaves, “You’re a horrible brother, do you know that?”
I smile and trot away, “I know.”
Salem came back from his date with the Tabby seething. “All she could talk about was how bad my breath was, what a crock! I don’t have bad breath, do I?”
I glance at him, “You’re just cranky because you have low blood sugar. You’ll feel better after a Tic Tac.”
My little brother Salem has a date with the Tabby down the street today. He’s been bragging about it all week.
When she arrived at the door, I waited close by to see him in action. He was smooth, I must admit. He managed to stand in a way that oddly highlighted his flexed muscles. I bent over to try it myself and pulled a hamstring.
He complimented her fur and whiskers. She giggled. Really?
He leaned in to sniff her, and instead, let out a loud and thunderous burp, right in her face. I pulled another hamstring, laughing.
It was the highlight of my week. The best part is, I now have a story to tell at every gathering EVER until I die. I began imagining all the people I would tell this to and the reactions I would get. I would suddenly become the life of the party. I could milk this story for years. I might even manage a date or two myself out of it.
The next time Salem teases me about my little pudge, I’ll say, “Oh yeah, well, at least I didn’t burp in my date’s face!” Take that. Or when he beats me at Catopoly, I will add, “Maybe I should just burp on you!” Burn.
Oh, the possibilities are endless. What I’ve learned from all this is that the phrase “This too shall pass” doesn’t apply to family.
I’m in the living room with my little brother Salem when I see the Maine Coon from next door walking up to the window. I mention this to Salem, and he frantically starts looking around for a place to hide.
“I can’t go out with her again! She’s nuts. Just go along with me, okay?”
The Maine Coon walks up, and Salem flops to the floor and closes his eyes.
So, of course, I invite her inside. I throw a paw toward Salem, “He’s not feeling very well.” She looks over and frowns.
Then, being the good big brother that I am, I bend over and wipe his nose with a tissue, “I think it’s time for somebody’s suppository.”
Two of the little humans in our household were recently inspired by a movie. In the scene, a man and woman are seen rolling around while tossing $100 bills into the air. “Raining money”, they called it.
Our little humans felt they could do better. One laid down on the floor while the other one ran to get the money. Seconds later, screams and shouts were heard as one poured a jar containing $78.32 in coins on top of the other one.
Salem and I laughed so hard our Kibble almost came back up. We heard there’s another movie called 8 Heads in a Duffel Bag, so we’re pretty pumped!
Sorry for the politics. This will be the only one, I promise.
The beautiful calico down the street stopped by today to chat.
Bored, we decide to watch Salem scarf down all the food in his dish, a magnificent feat he accomplishes in under thirty seconds. Then he lifts his head and smiles at us, Meow Mix running down his chin.
The calico points a paw, “So that’s your little brother?”
“Yep,” I reply.
She just stares at him, “The resemblance is uncanny.”