EDMOND —
I didn’t do it. It wasn’t my fault; and if it was, so what? I’m a cat, for crying out loud! Dog was bored out of her mind and so was I. She — the woman who lives with us — had left her reading glasses on the table, and I might have batted them around a bit. OK, so I did bat them around, and they ended up on the floor. Cats do things like that.
Was it my fault She’s glasses were destroyed? How was I to know they’d fall? Or that Dog would find frames and earpieces delicious? Dog knew it and She should have. Cats don’t bother their heads with things like that. We’re the stately, imperious animal. Remember? King of the jungle and all that?
We stalk and we pounce, we climb stuff, we purr and we yowl (I’m very good at all of that), but we don’t take responsibility for a dog’s indiscretions. If you watched Animal Planet you’d know that. Besides, aren’t dogs man’s best friend? Cesar-the-dog-whisperer said they were. I assumed they’d be woman’s best friend, too. Apparently not. Certainly not their glasses.
Lick, lick, lick. Dog licks She’s face, and she licks She’s feet. Dog licks up crumbs from the floor with the same relish she licks up the last of the kibbles in her bowl. How can you respect a licker? And that’s not all. Dog rolls over on her back when she knows she’s been bad, and She never punishes her. She never punishes me either, but that’s different. You can’t respect a roller overer. It’s humiliating. Dog should flip her tail and stalk off like I do.
About that purring thing I mentioned earlier, I’m very good at it when my back itches. Purr! Purr! Purr! I keep it up until She has scratched all the right spots, and then I bite her. Just a little. I have to. It’s a cat thing. She expects me to. Then She cups her hand around my face and I’m so cute She forgives me. Generally. Unless I bit too hard, in which case She dumps me off her lap until the next time I get an itch. She’s a really slow learner.
Stupid cat. How full of himself can he get? Always making excuses for himself. Sure, I chewed up She’s glasses, and also a dozen or so ballpoint pens that Cat shoved off onto the floor. Why not? I’m a dog and dogs do things like that. But not often. I pace myself.
I notice Cat didn’t mention the perks I get for never ever biting the hand that feeds me. Does he get carried to bed in She’s arms ... crooned to in loving tones ... cuddled on demand ... allowed to tromp throughout the back yard at will?
Nope, none of that, and here’s why. It’s my cute little pink tummy. The same tummy that disgusts the cat when I roll over on my back in what he thinks is submission but what I’ve learned is precious. She’s a sucker for cute. Cat would do well to learn that less biting and more licking pays off. It’s the secret of my success. That and the wistful face I make when I peer through the bars of the retaining gate and hum pathetically in my throat until She lets me out.
In self-defense, the woman who writes this column says She’s not deceived by the cat and dog who’ve had their say above. Dollar Store glasses and ballpoint pens are a small price to pay for good entertainment.
MARJORIE ANDERSON is an Edmond resident.
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