Pandemic Updates from Leia the Cat, March 2020
(with the occasional comment from Spike the Other Cat)
March 15: The
human is acting suspiciously. She pointed at the alarm clock and laughed, then
cleaned out the refrigerator. Something is not right here.
March 16: Odd
behavior continues. The human fed us late today, and we had to check to make
sure she was not dead. She has stacked towers of gooshy food next to the
cabinet and cleaned the oven.
March 17: The
human seems determined to erase my scent from everything in the house. Is this
why she is not leaving the domicile during the day? Or is she trying to take
command of my territory? I am concerned, very concerned.
March 18: the
cat warming device which the human kneads with her claws and stares at
regularly has taken on a new function, for the human now periodically speaks to
it...and IT SPEAKS BACK. The human may be practicing witchcraft. She was also
late with my breakfast again.
March 19: the
human woke up and fed us at a reasonable time today, then proceeded to move
boxes around for several hours. I am aghast to report that most boxes were CUT
OPEN and taken out of the domicile, rather than being placed strategically
around my territory. This human is very badly trained.
March 20: the human
behaved acceptably last night, providing a warm place where I could bathe and
do my nails, but this morning she pulled out a Device of Evil Noise and fed
paper to it for an hour while Singing Aloud. I may need to recruit the Orange
Fool into my new behavior modification plan.
March 21: the
human persists in not leaving the domicile. I thought she was attending to my
needs properly when I scented the chicken flavor wafting through my territory,
but neither my Significant Looks nor the Orange One's desperate pleas persuaded
her to share her bounty. Bereft, the Orange one deposited a hairball in the
human's bed.
March 22: if
the human is going to stay home, she WILL learn to behave properly. I will
knock over a fifth glass of iced tea if she has not learned from the first
four.
March 23: the
crisis intensifies. I thought the human was finally leaving the domicile today
and returning to her usual habits. However, just as I was feeling relief that
my tactics had borne fruit, she picked me up, deposited me in the mobile prison
cell and took me to the vet! I will not detail the indignities I endured there.
I'm not sure how much more of this I can take.
(March 23: Update
from Spike the Other Cat: my sister went away today. It was sad. She came back! I
jumped on her. She smacked me. Now I am happy.)
March 24: the
human is STILL here, and she is really getting on my nerves. Not only does she
persist in talking to me and to the orange cat whenever she sees us, even if I
am clearly set upon other business, but she also talks to inanimate objects. I
do not know if she has always been this way or she is going slowly mad, but if
I hear her call, "Missing coffee cup, where are you?" one more time,
there will be blood.
March 25: Things
improved slightly yesterday, as the human installed a new light-and-noise
machine under my supervision. The orange one attempted to hand tools to the
human, but because he does not have opposable thumbs, this resulted in tools
rolling under the sofa. I took great satisfaction in watching the human crawl
on her belly to reach things, mewling pathetically the entire time. Such
theater makes our joint confinement much more palatable.
(March 25: update from Spike the Other Cat: Fun! Fun! I help. Chase tail. Help more. Nice nap.)
March 26: the
human attempted to nap through dinnertime yesterday. While I respect the nap as
vital to the mental health of any being attempting to struggle through this
universe, I have had enough of late meals. I climbed upon the human's head and
spread out my fur. She awoke in a panic and promptly provided the appropriate
wet food. Honestly, we could just avoid this kind of unpleasantness if she
budgeted her time more effectively.
March 27: She
has put BOOKS in my napping spot! Fortunately, I am not so old and weak that I
cannot clear my spot myself. Loudly.
March 28: the
human is determined to remove my scent from ALL of the fluffy blankets. I am
determined to sleep in the basket where the un-felined blankets are folded
until one of us surrenders to the inevitable.
March 29: the
human did not feed us until 10:00 AM! I do not feel at all sorry that she
slipped in cat vomit leaving her bedroom. She simply MUST LEARN.
March 30: Things
have escalated here. Last evening, during what is clear Feline Dominance Time,
when humans are supposed to be asleep in their dens, my human, may her fur be
forever tangled, turned on the Loud Noise Machine and began singing the songs
of her kind while gyrating through the house. Periodically, she would spot
Spike or myself and exclaim, "Hands up, Kitties! It's time to rock this
pandemic!" My nerves are shattered, absolutely shattered.
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