Oh. It’s you. Hey.
So, if you came here expecting to hear from Lisa today, you’re up a scratching post without your front claws, ’cause she’s not here. In honor of my 8th birthday, she’s allowing me the privilege of being a guest blogger on her site.
Well, actually, that’s not true. The truth is, she’s in the other room getting herself another cup of coffee (caffeine-addicted wench) and she left her browser window open, so I have to make this quick. The keyboard on this Mac makes it tough to type (I’m a PC feline, myself) so forgive any typos.
So, today is my 8th birthday. Whoopdy-frickin’-doo. Cats don’t really celebrate birthdays, per se, because EVERY day is our special day. If only you humans would treat us as the gods we truly are, the world would be a much better place. The Ancient Egyptians were so wonderful in that regard. *sigh* The good old days.
Of course, my Amy has something special planned for me. She thinks I don’t know, but she does it every year. I have the whole, “What?!? Oh, you guys, is this for ME?” look downpat, so I’ll have to be sure to trot it out later when she “surprises” me with some wet food in a crystal serving dish with one of those flaming wax sticks in the middle that I hate. A candle, she calls it. Every year she tells me to make a wish, and every year, I wish she’d take the darn thing and pitch it right at Tiger–just for laughs, mind you–but she never does. She ends up blowing it out and giving me a scratch behind the ears, which was the other thing I would have wished for anyway.
Some of you might be wondering if cat years work the same way that dog years do. Let me clear up any misconceptions right now: THEY DON’T. In fact, there is absolutely NOTHING feline that even remotely compares to anything canine. Got that? Good.
In cat years, I’m as old as I damn well want to be. Humans could take a lesson from us cats, I tell you that right now. No mid-life crises or existential melt-downs when you’re a cat. You just live your lives (all 9 of them) and take each day as it comes. Don’t think about what’s happened in the past (that old couch needed shredding anyway) and don’t worry about the future (I’ve got a hairball due to arrive in about an hour, yet do I look worried?). Just live for the moment, and remember:
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to do some serious lounging in the front hall. But don’t worry–as soon as that hairball starts to show itself, I’ll make sure I move to the rug in the dining room. Wouldn’t want to mess up the nice tile floor, now would we.
Ha! (sorry, cat humor. Most humans don’t get it. S’okay.)
I’m outta here. Later, peeps.