A Day in a Cat's Life; and a Concert!
This is Pepper. He was part of our family until 2017.
I found this piece buried in a file. I don't know what inspired me to write it, but I thought it may make you smile!
And below you'll find a copy of the poster for the December 2nd Monday Morning Singers' Concert. It will be a wonderful evening! Tickets will be at the door, and they're only $20! I'm looking forward to singing with this talented group of women.
Hi, my name is Pepper. Yes, I know this is a ridiculous name for a cat, especially since I’m a handsome tabby with distinguished stripes and a rippling, glossy coat. But this is about a day in my life, not an explanation of human choices for cat names.
It doesn’t really matter what day I write about because they’re much the same. So, I’ll tell you about yesterday.
When Martin came down to let us cats and dogs out, I had a long, satisfying stretch, clawed a few times at the carpet, and then ambled out of the door. I time it so I can seize the opportunity of the open door. I much prefer going out this way rather than through the dog door. They don’t call it the ‘dog door’ for nothing. We cats must be careful how we use it—it can have a vicious kickback and catch your tail.
The sun was warm, so I sat on the mat, sheltered by the house’s overhang, to watch the chickadees in their bouncy flights back and forth from the feeders—which the humans put out of my reach. (I like to think this wasn’t done on purpose). The chickadees were playful and teased me with their antics and acrobatics. I gnashed my teeth and made warning noises, but they didn’t care. They laughed at me and continued to stash their seeds and peanut pieces in hiding places in the crevices of the trees. I soon got tired of listening to their taunting chick-a-dee-dee-dees and went back to my basket.
I curled up in a snug, furry ball, with my head almost upside-down, and dreamt of chickadees. My whiskers were twitching and my paws paddling as I jumped up into the air and caught one in mid-flight. I was about to eat it when the dogs flew out of the dog door, barking. The wretched door sprung back with a loud clatter and the racket woke me up. I yawned, creating a cavernous hole so large it was as if my head had been turned inside-out, or so I’ve been told. I sprung up to the cat food which is always there for us cats. I like munching on the crunchy pieces. There is always plenty for both of us, so I don’t have to rush, and I took my time. Then I leapt down to the water bowl. Unfortunately, we have to share this with the dogs, so I don’t lap the water up, I put my paw in and lick the water off. For some reason, this amuses Vicky. I do make a bit of a wet patch around the bowl, but that’s nothing to the mess the dogs make.
I returned to my basket to sleep, hoping to resume my dream about chickadees, but couldn’t get that going again, so I dreamt of lying in the sun. When I woke, I thought it would be a good idea to amble around to the front of the house, because it would be warm there. And, sure enough, my buddy Tiger was already on the deck soaking up the sun’s rays.
I must have slept for most of the afternoon because when I opened my eyes, Vicky was bringing out the tray of tea things, and the dogs were waiting for their treats. We don’t get ours until later. I have no idea why. Barclay is a collie-cross of dubious origin, well, I suppose I should say his origin is unknown—since he was adopted from the pound. I was too, so we have a kinship. After he’d eaten his treat, I went over to him and rubbed against his fluffy neck and warm face and lay down across his front legs as he rested on the grass. He groomed me by chewing my fur along my back. After several minutes, I jumped onto Vicky’s lap, but she didn’t want to stroke me as she usually does. I heard her say something about dog saliva and goo.
No one acknowledged my feelings of rejection, so I wandered off down the driveway. I like to cross the road and sit on the old, rickety fence to see if can spot mice in the grassy ditch below. It’s a good hunting spot because I caught one once. But Vicky doesn’t like me going down there and she called me back. So, I rolled around on the dusty driveway for a couple of minutes, and then sauntered back to the deck.
Martin said something about my coat looking dull, and Vicky commented that I’d just been rolling around in the dust. They couldn’t figure out why I’d done it, but they haven’t tried it themselves, and if they did, they’d understand.
After everyone had vacated the deck, I jumped up onto one of the Muskoka chairs and must have slept until nearly dusk. Vicky called me and Tiger inside and gave us our treats, but I wanted dinner right away. I worked hard to get her attention by weaving around her legs, clawing at her jeans, and tripping her up when she was going down the stairs, all the while clearly vocalizing my need. But she can be quite dim sometimes.
Eventually, she caught on and gave me and Tiger our ration of tinned food.
Then there was a big decision to make—where to rest for the evening. I tried the top of the back of the sofa, but it was too spongey. I tried Martin’s chair, but then he wanted to use it and he wasn’t sharing. I curled up on a chair in the study, but Vicky was busy working on her book, and the clicking of the keyboard accompanied by her frequent sighs and groans were disturbing. I thought I could settle on one of the carpeted stairs, but the dogs came charging up and I had to flee their pounding paws. I wandered back to the study and resorted to lying across the top of the back of Vicky’s chair. I thought I’d be safe for a while because she was engrossed in editing, but within ten minutes she leant back with a big sigh, and I was in search of another spot. I was getting worn out from all the moving.
Finally, I selected the end of the sofa nearest the fireplace and had a much-needed undisturbed sleep until we were all rounded up at bedtime.
Humans complain about how hard it is to herd cats, but Tiger and I permit ourselves to be ushered into our basket every night. We curled up together and I was cheered by pictures of chickadees that came dancing back into my head. I knew it would be a good night.
Copyright Vicky Earle 2022
If you're in the Uxbridge, Ontario, vicinity, then come to our concert on December 2nd at 7.30 pm!
You'll be treated to some Benjamin Britten as well as other beautiful Christmas music.
And join in with some carol singing!
We are thrilled to have the well-known harpist, Sharlene Wallace, to accompany us, as well as Tom Baker on piano.
It will be a fun, uplifting evening.
I hope to see you in St. Paul's Anglican Church on Friday!
PS Books as gifts!!
This is another reminder that books make great gifts!
If you have family/friends who like animals, including horses and dogs, and enjoy a mystery, then remember the Meg Sheppard Mystery Series! The 4 books are available in paperback and as e-books on Amazon, and from bookstores (Blue Heron Books, Uxbridge, has all four of my books on their shelves).
I'm editing my 5th book, so there's more to come!!
There are so many wonderful books out there for all ages, of all genres, and in a variety of formats.
Happy Reading and Gift Giving!