Enemy at the Plate

Angry kittyFrom the Writing Desk of Chirps at Birds (Human Alias: Bela)

The fat one has returned and is evidently in a sour mood. His dealings on the outside must have been less than successful this day, for he has arrived in a huff and once again neglected to reciprocate the traditional end-of-day Egyptian Anus Greeting. Further, he brought with him packets of those brown edible dining circles that he submerges in the milk.

Three packets. Must have been a bad day.

I am slighted that he is in such a condition as I have been hoping to call attention to the overflowing state of my commode. In fact, I have lowered myself to let out a few of these asinine high-pitched meows that seem to be effective in gathering positive human attention. But it has been to no avail this evening.

After preparing his evening gruel, on which I find myself acutely addicted, he sits down at the table in front of this magical box that keeps his attention so rapt that it must betray secrets from other worlds. After a few nibbles on his food and my distraught realization that I am not to join him in dining, I lay into his ankle with four well-placed punctures from the Gibbanachi technique that brings him to notice my empty food chambers.

He then lets out on me a few low-grade grumbles that are surely meant to dissuade the advances of another of these two-legged beasts. This proves once again that these animals are completely bereft of manners and merely passive aggressive goons. N.B: My thesis on this subject has thus garnered strong support, and it seems that Warrior of Canines (Human Alias: Sidney) owes me one rodent corpse for his erroneous belief.

In any event, Human feeds me and goes back to his meal in grouchy silence.

These toilet dwellers will never cease to amaze me. They are both sickeningly emotional and obvious. Well at least this one is, and according to the intelligence gathered in worldwide correspondences, the rest of them are no different. But this one exhibits his moods in an embarrassingly transparent manner. There is elation, marked by dancing and singing on the days which he may remain home and the tantrums after the magic box stops working or I exact dental punishment for an infringement on my personal space.

But the worst mood is grumpiness. First of all, this almost certainly distracts him from peddling treats to me and scratching the Demon Spot*. Moreover, it’s not extreme enough for me to elicit a tirade and soon thereafter guilt-based snacks in my favor.

At the moment, the buffoon is ignoring all that is around him. He’s moved to and lounged out upon the elongated chair that he seems unnaturally fond of, so my hopes of a clean latrine are sure to be dashed. I have sought solace in a plastic bag under one of the chairs, the physics of which are continuously astounding and whose acoustics are in line with the craft that brought us to this dreaded place.

In the midst of a martial strangulation exercise that they all seem to find “cute” I notice that the goon has opened the green bottle and poured out the, evidently, transformative brown liquid. Soon he’ll be singing in that strange voice and then arguing with nobody before dropping into a deep, loud sleep.

That settles it; there shan’t be a clean box this evening. And for that, there shall be punishment. Perhaps I shall meow at an empty room again; yes, that seems to worry him. Or a foot worshipping at 4 in the ante meridiem.

One thing’s for sure, I shall surely withhold the traditional start-of-day Egyptian Anus Greeting tomorrow morning.

*The Demon Spot is the space between the ears on top of the head. It is the only spot on the feline body not reachable by paw, thus demanding assistance from furniture or human. And we detest both of those things.   

  1. #1 by angela galeone on December 6, 2012 - 1:57 pm

    Damien–I adored this as you can imagine. I laughed through the whole reading of this blog. You aptly captured the mind of a cat I am sure!!

  2. #2 by fredi on December 6, 2012 - 7:47 pm

    Damien I think you should get a dog.

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