My humans are in the middle of moving to another state this week so I am currently staying at a hotel.
Apparently, there are two classes of hotels. There are regular hotels with their clean crisp sheets and fancy doors that lock, and then there are hotels that allow pets.
Yes, mine is the one with sketchy alley cats hanging out in the parking lot peddling catnip and questionable Frooskie’s treats out of the back of their carriers. I attempted to hide under the bed when strange noises began emanating from the other side of the wall but a mean butterfly had already claimed that spot.
My little brother Salem acted all tough at first, like he was some kind of badass feral and in his element, but the first time a cat with matted fur and missing teeth approached him asking for some tuna, he ran and hid in the bathroom. A bathroom, by the way, I could swear had the chalk outline of a terrier on its floor.
It’s scary as crap. Rumors are flying around that the only food available on the streets is dry and off-brand. Consequently, I’m doing everything I can not to get shut out of the room accidentally.
If you don’t hear from me again, there’s a good chance I’ve met my demise and some rabid little Shih Tzu is picking bits of me out of his teeth.
Sasha, Salem, and I are sitting in the living room window admiring the various wildlife outside when we all spy a small cricket at the same time. Ah, nature. It’s a beautiful thing.
Salem points a paw at it and says, “Oh, I could have that eaten in one second.”
I roll my eyes, “Sure you could, it’s tiny.”
Irked, he gestures to a larger grasshopper sitting on the deck, “I could eat that, too,” then he grins, “all in one bite!”
We all look at the grasshopper in wonder, sitting in the golden sunlight, its green legs tapping the deck. Out of nowhere, a large hairy brown spider, the size of a human’s skull, rips the grasshopper’s head off and devours it whole.
My eyes pop out. Sasha faints.
Salem gulps, “I think I need to go clean my stick toy now.”
If we ever get the urge to view animals in the wild again, we will turn on the T.V. and watch Pets ofThe RealHousewives.
My little brother Salem has been seeing a feline named Shorthair recently. I don’t know what she sees in him and not me. He drools and snores for Pete’s sake. What has he got that I haven’t? I look over at him, sleeping on the floor, with that stupid smug look on his face. I just want to smack it.
He just thinks he’s better than me now doesn’t he? I’ll bet they just sit around laughing at me. He probably tells her that I’m just his little servant. A loser kitty with fleas who can’t get a date. He probably jokes that dogs won’t even date me.
I cut my eyes at him sleeping over there like some kind of king. Who does he think he is anyway?
I start to walk away and as I pass by him he opens his eyes and asks, “Is dinner ready?”
As my brother Salem is sitting on top of me, pinning me down, a large drop of spittle is forming in the corner of his mouth. As brothers often do, he threatens to let it drop on my face if I don’t submit to his will.
“Say it. Say you won’t touch my things ever again.”
I can’t help but stare at the drool forming into a large droplet dangling precariously from his lips. It could drop at any moment and yet I surprisingly hold firm. “NO.”
He grins and shakes his head causing the droplet to start to separate from his mouth. “Swear you won’t take anything of mine again!” He leans closer so that his face is within one inch of mine and says it one more time with gusto, “Sweaaaaar it!”
“Aaaaah, I swear. I swear,” I utter as his claws dig into my chest.
He lifts his body off of mine and struts away in triumph. Sitting up, I shake his loose hairs off of me. I glance over and see that his food dish still has several Friskies treats in it. Hmm, I scratch my head. I wonder what flavor those are?
It’s been a rough day. The little humans are always home now. I never get a moment of peace or privacy anymore. And I have places that need to be licked. Feeling the mounting stress, I find a warm stream of light to relax in.
I reach for a nice Friskies tuna flavored cat treat and realize the pouch is empty. You always think it’s going to happen to someone else.
I hold firm and don’t cry. Okay, I cry. I cry a lot. Then I eat an entire pouch of the lesser-known Frooskies cat treats my human bought me once thinking I wouldn’t notice. Asshole.
My little brother Salem has been sleeping on the floor for the last hour when he wakes up and glances around confused, “Where’d my sunbeam go?”
I smile, “Oh, I turned it off. Sorry.”
He cuts his eyes at me, “Well turn it back on.”
He stands up and says a bit louder, “I said, ‘turn it back on’.”
“I said, ‘No’.”
Salem crouches down, preparing to lunge, “Turn. It. On!”
I race away screaming, “Noooooooooooooo!”
P.S. I just wanted to share that I made FeedSpot.com’s top 200 cat blogs list. I’m number 123!! Hey, I’m estatic just to make the list!! Check it out: Their list of top cat blogs: https://blog.feedspot.com/cat_blogs/