The Christmas Gift

Oh, how I have been racking my brain for the perfect gift for my human. No mere piece of string or half-eaten spider will do. I need something spectacular. Something that will insure my goodwill would not go unrewarded.

First, I start out with simple good deeds for her to observe: I bypass the pretty and enticing red flowers on the countertop, making sure she takes notice that I do not chew on them this time. Then, I carefully lick the floor clean of all my Meow Mix before exiting dinnertime, and for the piece de resistance, when she walks into her bedroom, I move my tail ever so much so that she, too, can sit on the bed. But my actions go unnoticed. Undetected. My sacrifices ignored.

There is no doubt about it. A grand gesture will be required. An offering to top all offerings. My mind quickly begins inventorying all of my feline possessions: 1 pouch of catnip safely hidden under my bed, 4 shiny marbles, 3 chewed milk rings, 2 pieces of string, and one very well loved Meow Mix mouse.

There really is only one choice. Oh, how she is going to love on me Christmas morning. As the magnificence of my gift settles on my mind, I almost can’t believe my own generosity. Ah, this will be a Christmas she will never forget.

Santa Claws is Coming

Suffice it to say, I’ve been wavering between the Naughty and Nice list all year and with Santa Claws coming soon, I figure I need to do something to solidify my place on the Nice side. An amazing gift for my human just might do the trick. But what do I get her?

“Hey, Salem. What do you think we should get our human for Christmas?”

Salem’s mouth drops open, “We have to get her something?”

I blink a few times and then raise my right paw and bitch slap him. I bitch slap him hard. “Of course we do you numbskull.” Then I duck down and in my fastest auctioneering voice I blurt out, “If you want Santa to bring you treats you have to get her something so you’ll be on the Nice list and not the Naughty list so don’t slap me back I’m only trying to help you.”

He lowers his paw and I breathe again and stand back up.

“How about that old piece of string over there?” he motions toward the corner.

I restrain myself from slapping him again. “No, no. It has to be something she would love. Something special, beautiful, something extravagant.”

Salem’s eyebrows dip and he smiles, “Are you talking about yarn?”

Oh. My. God. How on earth does he get more dates than I do?

“Never mind. I’ll think of something myself.” I’ll get all the credit if I do it myself anyway.

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

I got myself into a bit of a pickle yesterday. You see, my human had her closet open and I could swear I saw a spider in the corner, so I had to go in and check it out. My human doesn’t like spiders and I’ve sworn to protect my home from them.

Well, I got trapped in there for the better part of the day, and, well, I had to go to the litter box really bad, you see….

My human, not even noticing that the spider was gone, mind you, is a little peeved at me.

I was wondering if you could get her a bottle of that red stuff that makes her smile. Heck, give her a few of them, she was pretty mad.

Your friend,

Suki

P.S. Feel free to toss in a few extra tuna treats for me, too. That was a pretty mean spider.

The Pacifist In Me

My little brother Salem is what you might call hospitably challenged. You see, in the world of felines, there are bullies and there are those that are bullied. Salem is a born and bred bully. He kind of prides himself on it. I myself am an accomplished pacifist. Which means I can run fast. Very, very fast.

I’m more of a brains cat than a brawny one. My battles take planning. Scheming. I find that revenge, like tuna, is best served cold.

Today, I found the outer shell of one of Salem’s claws stuck in my fur. A souvenir from yesterday’s surprise attack. Well, I’m getting even. When he wakes from his nap, he’ll find his face staring at the business end of Teenager’s underwear. Underwear I found on the floor!

“Suuuukkkkkkiiii!!!!!!”

Ack! I gotta go.

Partners in Crime

Salem walks up to me with his fur sticking out in all directions. “Whoa! Have you been rolling around on the carpet? You know the static will make your hair stand out, right?”

He raises his chin, “Shorthair likes me like this. She says it makes me look ‘hot’.” He smirks. I grimmace.

“Sure, right,” I blink a few times, “hot.”

Salem struts off looking like a dandilion waiting for a wish and I send Shorthair three treats and a note:

Nice job. Next, I’m thinking hats.

Secret Society of Idiots

I walk into the kitchen, ready for a little snack, and peer down into my empty food dish. Why does my human hate me? I shake my head and make my way into the living room.

“Wha?” I stop and stare, stunned. There, chatting and laughing it up through the living room window, is my little brother Salem and some scraggly looking alley cat from down the block.

All of a sudden, the AC (alley cat) spots me out of the corner of his eye. His eyes narrow to slits and he stops talking and smiling and points a steady paw in my direction. Salem turns and glances at me. He smirks and looks back at the AC. And there, through the glass, they exchange some curious movements that involve a turn, a butt wiggle, a high five paw move that ends with a tapping together of their right paws in unison through the glass window.

Why, was that a secret paw shake? Does my goofy, stupid, smelly little brother belong to some secret society that I am unaware of? And worse yet, not privy to membership in? My stomach churned. They probably just sit and watch each other drool. Or chase their own tails like dogs, what idiots, what imbeciles. I want in. Every fiber of my being wants in. Oh, he will rue the day!

Salem raises his tail and starts to strut off without even acknowledging me.

“Uh, hmm,” I snort.

With all the fake innocence he can muster, he asks, “What?”

“What was that?”

“What?”

My anger rises inside me, incensed by the humilation of being excluded and now ignored. “Who was that? Are you in a secret club?” I bore my eyes into him, willing him to spill the beans with my brain waves.

He lays his paw on his chest, “Me? No. Why ever do you ask?”

“Arghh!!!” I shake with fury. Salem saunters off and I vow I will find out what he is up to. I will have him begging me to join and just when he’s on his knees crying, I will reject him in a fit of laughter and then walk away forever the superior feline.

Now, where do I begin? I think I need some tuna and maybe a nap first.