Take That

“I don’t feel so well.” I hold my tummy and lay out in front of Salem.

He ignores me and continues napping, so I let out a louder moan, “Ohhh, I said I don’t feel so well. I ate too many Friskies treats.”

Salem opens one eye, looks at me as though I am annoying him, and goes back to sleep.

“You are so selfish! Don’t you care that I don’t feel well?”

I’m not selfish. You are. I’m trying to sleep. and your tummy ache doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

“That just shows what you know! It was your treats I ate.”

And the Beat Goes On

Salem and I are watching our neighbor, a yellow Labrador, playing outside with his human when Salem scoffs, “He thinks he’s so cool. I bet he has fleas.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Look, his human throws a frisbee and he catches it in his mouth.” Salem rolls his eyes.

“That is kind of cool.”

“Big deal. Remember that time I swallowed a piece of yarn and pooped it out in knots?”

“Yeah,” I stammer, “you got that going for you.”

We sit and watch them play for awhile.

Finally, I look at him and say, “You know, if you practice and work at it, I bet you could learn to catch a frisbee in your mouth, too.”

“No, thanks. It’s a lot easier to make fun of him.”

Self-Reflection

I’ve had a really rough week dating wise. I stare into the mirror and inventory my growing list of imperfections. There seem to be quite a few: stubby whiskers, flabby muscles, bowling ball eyes, etc… I sigh in defeat and rub my ever expanding tummy.

My little brother walks up, “What are you doing?”

“I’m wondering if trimming my fur will make me appear thinner.” I break into laughter.

“Why are you laughing?” he asks.

“Because I’m out of Kleenex.”

Suki’s Ponderings

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.”

I’m Bored

Out of the corner of my eye I see my little brother Salem walking by. I immediately sit up and begin biting the air.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m pretending to eat your birthday cake,” I pause for dramatic effect, “and it’s goooood.”

His eyes bulge, “STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!”

I smile, “No,” and continue to eat the fake cake.

“That’s mine!! Cut it out!”

“Oh, wait,” I pause and smile, “I haven’t blown out the candles yet.”

“You’re going to die!” He races toward me.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I haul ass into the next room and spend the better part of the night hiding under the bed. Times are good.

Ah, Siblings…

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.”

“No.”

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!”

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#IHopeIt’sNotContagious

I’m curled up taking my nap when Salem paws me awake. I narrow my eyes and pause for a second before I decide whether or not to kill him now or after I finish resting and have more energy.

“Hey,” he pokes me again, “why is our little human crying?”

I lift my head a little, “Oh that. He has a horrible disease.”

“No kidding?” His eyes get wide and he stares at the small human slumped over the kitchen table sobbing uncontrollably. He steps back a little, “I hope it’s not contagious. What does he have?”

“It’s called Algebra.”