 Here is my latest essay—A Letter from the Queen. I hope you enjoy it. It is longer than most I have written. A Letter from the Queen Good Day, everyone. I am Figaro, Queen of the Buchanan Cat House. I want to tell you how things are around here. Mama has thrown a snit fit. A pretty good one for a human, but not as impressive as mine can be. Apparently, Mama thinks she is overworked and overburdened. There are four of us superior beings and two humans living in this house with her. As far as we are concerned she has only one job. To feed us and to remember to keep our crunchy bowls full at all times. She has been rather rude in this last job lately. She keeps putting this nasty green powder on our crunchies. She read this Feline Food Enhancer would be good for us, especially me. I tend to throw up a lot. Personally, I think I am purging my system of toxins. She thinks I am sick. I wonder if she thinks I have a touch of anorexia, but I don’t. I am a svelte fourteen pounds, all muscle. I outweigh all of the others by two to eight pounds. I need the weight to keep the others in line. Especially my flashy sister, Mystic and the social misfit, Samson. I just have to look at Gracie and she behaves. I have power in my stare. Mama can hiss and spit like a cat. If she didn’t pull out her whiskers, she could look really ferocious. She can hiss and spit like a cat. She also keeps her claws rather long and shiny. I don’t understand why she puts that colored stuff on them. She keeps taking it off and putting different colors on. Find one, for heaven’s sake. Mine are beautifully long and sharper than hers. She must be jealous because she keeps making Daddy or our human brother Bubba help her trim cut our nails. Truthfully, our nails are prettier and much more effective than hers. I have taken our servants down with one good swipe when I didn’t want my manicure. Mama has some strange ideas. Since her last cat, Ramona was brain injured by inhaling a bot fly, an evil insect from South America, Mama refuses to let us outside anymore. We eat her indoor plants. We need the fresh greens in our diet. Her prized Walking Orchid is quite tasty. I think Mystic ate the last bud yesterday. No flowers this year. Mystic and I were found at a trash compactor by Bubba. We will forever be grateful he got us out of the parking lot. The traffic was awful. It is better living here where they wait on us, which is what the servants are supposed to do. I like to go outside, though. I love fresh grass. That stuff Mama grows in the pan for us is inferior. Monkey grass has the most vitamins and minerals. It also makes the best patterns when I throw it up. Mama thinks she has so much to do. I don’t know why “tax time” stresses her out so much. She is causing a problem for us superior felines. Grandmama’s dining room table is our place for viewing what goes on in and outside of the house. Now Mama has covered it with papers and folders. The pencils are okay. We like to knock them off on the floor and hide them. She fusses when we skid across the top of the table and papers fly everywhere. Gracie, the baby, loves it. Gracie can jump so high. Her favorite sound is paper tearing and glass breaking. Old glass makes a very satisfying crash. Mama also makes a strange nose to accompany the sound of breaking glass. You should have heard her when her grandmother’s vase hit the floor. Those high pitch whines are not good for my delicate ears. Daddy went ballistic last night. Daddy hardly ever gets upset. Daddy organizes all the “financial tax things” which is just a bunch of paper. Then Mama does all the “tax stuff.” Daddy had been wasting hours of time placing all those papers into specific stacks. Mystic hit the table with one magnificent leap. I was very proud of her acrobatic skills. Gracie and Samson stood up and batted at papers as they flew through the air. It was great fun. Of course, that kind of behavior is beneath me. I watched from the top of the Queen Anne chair, one of my thrones. Mystic loves Q-tips. If the drawer where the Q-tips are kept is left slightly ajar, she can pull it open. She lifts one Q-tip at a time out of the cup. Last night, she pulled them all out. She likes to throw them in the air and spin around with them. When she gets tired of them she hides them under the furniture. Mystic was so happy. Mama had refilled the cup yesterday. Back to Mama’s hissy fit. She is good at them. She is trying to get two books completed for a deadline. I am SO TIRED of her talking about the plot in the ghost story. She needs to make the cats roles much more prominent. The second book is like her first. This one will have lots of essays glorifying the four of us, too. I do resent that crack she makes about tumble fur weeds. It is her fault. If she paid more attention to us and combed us more often, we’d have less loose fur to soften the look of the house. This morning she was carrying one of our food trays into the kitchen. She feeds us in two different places. When Samson, the psychotic, found his way here, she fed him in her bathroom to keep him isolated. Truthfully, she should still keep him in isolation. Samson is a Scardy Cat and a bit odd. When he is upset he uses the bathroom in inappropriate places. Heck, I can stand up and look at him and he will lose it, usually under Mama’s desk. Yesterday, I managed to get outside. That made Mama mad. She kept yelling and trying to catch me. I finally ate all the grass I wanted and came in. And, I had to wait for her to come back to open the door for me. I mean, she didn’t want me out so why didn’t she stand at the door waiting. I was only out 15 minutes or so. The monkey grass doesn’t have any tender shoots up yet. I was forced to eat the old foliage. I supplemented with some of the Walking Orchid leaves. During the night, I blessed her with not one, but TWO, large throw-up spots right where she walks from the bedroom to the kitchen. They were well textured and patterned puddles, too. There is third one, but she hasn’t found that one yet. Mama doesn’t wear shoes. She likes to be barefoot. Well, so do me. I can’t blame her for that. This morning, she must have been in a particularly hazy state of mind. She put one bare foot in a puddle and slid. To regain her balance, her other foot came down in the second artistically designed gift. The food and water on the tray went in one direction. Mama went in other. Thank goodness Mama was wearing her pretty panties this morning. Everyone got to see them. Fussing and cussing Mama got up off the floor. She did not show any cat-like gracefulness, either. She kept slipping and sliding. Daddy can’t hear thunder, but he felt the whole house shake. Mama is the one who should be eating that gross green powder. She needs to lose the weight. Daddy and Bubba helped Mama up. We gave our support from afar. Everyone started picking up broken glass, cleaning up the floor, the wall, and the counter tops. Gracie and Mystic did their part by knocking the dry food all around the kitchen and den. And then, Bubba realized all of his work pants were in the washing machine. He forgot to turn the machine on yesterday. We don’t fool with that silly pants stuff. We are beautiful without them. And so much softer than the naked humans. Mama was trying to de-slime her feet and legs. Something about not walking vomit all over the house. Bubba asked Mama why she didn’t wash his things. Daddy was snickering. I didn’t know Mama’s eyes could pop out like that. Mama got real quiet. That is never a good thing. Silently, we smart ones left the room. Samson has been upset recently. He has been sleeping at Mama’s feet. Mystic sleeps at Daddy’s feet. Gracie sleeps in that old chair in the bedroom. I have my own room, in which I allow Bubba to sleep. Yesterday, Samson was on the couch asleep. He was between Mama and Daddy. I decided I should be in that place. I got up there and Scardy Cat jumped down. He wasn’t happy. He would retaliate. Not my problem. When Samson is unhappy, he believes he is punishing us, his sisters. His doo-doos on the scratching pad. Makes no difference to rest of us. We use the chair in our parents’ bedroom to sharpen our nails; the one they think is so wonderful because it is really old. It belonged to somebody who has been dead for eons of time. During the night, Samson did his thing. You know those house shoes Mama doesn’t like to wear? Yep, Samson got both of them. After she took the second bath of the day to rid herself of all my throw up, she put her feet in the slippers. That’s when Mama sat down and pitched the fit. There was this really low grumble. The whole house got quiet. Mystic was toting her “baby” around and talking to it. She likes to do that. She wants to mother everyone. Mama gave her a ‘baby” which is just a ball of softness. Mystic talks to it. When she heard Mama, Mystic stopped and laid her baby down. Gracie who had been running through the house and over the dining room table trying to make all the papers explode again, stopped. Samson went into hiding. We haven’t seen him since. Bubba got dressed in some other black pants. He very quietly got his stuff together and went to the car. Daddy walked in and said “What’s the matter?” Big mistake, Daddy. Mama carried her house shoes to the toilet and emptied Samson’s gift from them. Then she threw her shoes into the trash can. Her eyes were real squinty and she was talking in a tight voice. “I’ve had it.” OOOH, it is never good when Mama Talks in that low voice. “The ironing is backed up. The house is a wreck. Laundry needs to be done. I have a deadline on this book. I need to do all the taxes. I have to work tomorrow, and I have just stepped in cat poo-poo.” Mama used a nasty word there, but I cleaned it up for you. Mama got back in the shower. That was the third bath of the morning. Humans really like that spraying water and stinky soap. Personally, I think it is awful. A few licks and her feet would have been clean. She got dressed and stomped off into the sunroom. She really needs to work on her sulky walk. Cats glide. Mama thundered through the house. Daddy and Bubba left to take Bubba to work. I don’t know if Daddy is coming home soon. I wouldn’t if I were him. If they would let me out, I’d have gone with Daddy. Gracie is in Mama’s closet. She is on the floor under all of Mama’s clothes. It is a good hiding place. The closet is so tight you can’t get anything else in it. Mystic took her baby to Daddy’s closet. They are on the shelf behind his suits. He never wears his suits so she can make her nest there. I don’t know where Samson is. He is the best hider of all of us. He should be in hiding. I think his poop is the straw that broke the camel’s back. Stupid expression. We don’t have a camel here. I, on the other hand, am on my pillow in Bubba’s bed. That is my space in my room. I will sleep until Mama calms down. Then I will go to her. When I do my little moo dance, she stops what she is doing and pays attention to me. She’ll talk that insulting baby talk to me. Then she will give me my just desert, one mini-moo of half and half creamer. While she pours it, Mama sings Blue Moo, I saw you standing alone or Moo over Miami to me. She doesn’t sing very nicely, but she means well. And I get my moo, so I put up with her. You see, as the Queen, I have made everything okay.  |
RSS Feed
Warning: Drinking while reading this blog may cause liquid to be expressed through the nose and from the mouth. Read and drink at your own risk, the risk of your computer, and any items that may become wet. Life is hard and laughter is guaranteed.
