The Crankee Yankee and I are owned by three cats; Nala, our torti-tiger female, Pookie, our all black green-eyed boy, and Plumpy-Nut, our big fluffy tuxedo cat who used to be a neighborhood stray. All of them are rescues; Nala from a house with a dog and cat she hated; she spent her life hiding in the basement. Pookie, delivered to a shelter from a home with way too many cats; he came to us with an eye infection and a UTI. Then there is Plumpy-Nut, who needed neutering, all his shots, and flea and tick treatments and mostly, someone to love and care for him.
All three have become great friends, and they are all in league to drive us crazy. Well, not crazy enough to affect their daily meals, fresh water, clean litterboxes, several dozen toys, soft beds (their favorite being ours) and cat furniture–the latest being a 6′ tall kitty condo with three levels.
No denying it, life is good for cats at our house. Not only do we cater to each and every cat’s whim inside our home, but we also feed the neighborhood strays and the occasional raccoon, skunk and possum. In the cold weather, we also provide snug beds under the porch for anyone who needs shelter. In fact, during the winter I spend a good part of my life washing and drying the “critter blankets.”
However, it is our indoor band of three who are conspiring to make sure that our lives revolve only around theirs. Breakfast is at 4:30am on a good morning (meaning we get to “sleep in”); 3:30am if they’ve made enough racket to get us up at that hour. Once they’ve been fed, they go off to their happy places: Pookie under the covers, Nala in an actual cat bed, and Plumpy on top of the desk. They sleep the sleep of the righteous, knowing that they have done their duty: they woke us up good and early so that we could take care of their needs.
Now any cat owner will tell you how special and unique their cats are, how much they are spoiled and pampered, how many cute little routines they have, and so on. We cat owners are idiots about our cats, and we don’t even notice when peoples’ eyes start glazing over when we show them dozens of pictures of our cute and funny cats. We are saps, and the cats know it.
They aren’t stupid, cats–they are master manipulators and they are not one bit ashamed of it. It’s not surprising that cats were once worshiped as gods in ancient Egypt, and of course cats have never forgotten this. Unlike dogs, who live to please, cats have a permanent attitude of “what have you done for me lately?”
…and there we are, two big dopes who buy into their crap each and every day. It’s a universal cat conspiracy, I tell you, and we are letting them get away with it. We really should—oh, wait–one of our cats is requesting tuna.
We’ll talk later.