These girls couldn’t possibly be any more different from one another. Other than the obvious color difference, each communicate differently, react differently to each of us, eat different, sleep different, patrol different, play different. And oddly enough, there has never been a tussle or disagreement between Pia and Viola. Not one.
It’s as if they mapped out their areas and boundaries from the start and have yet to ever cross paths. This is about as close to each other as they have ever been. We think they’re okay with this. It’s a secret agreement their cat lawyers scratched out.
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A cause for celebration here at Colehaus: Our replacement refrigerator finally arrived! We’re still getting used to the sounds it makes – Mom says it sounds like a muted cell phone call and Dad agrees. It’s not one of those kinds of appliances that’s connected every which way to the Internet. The sound is just the compressor spinning up and not a case of our refrigerator calling someone (maybe secretly to a friend made at the factory?).
As for the return to refrigerated anything, Mom shrugs and says, “Meh,” while Dad says ThankYouThankYouThankYouThankYouThankYouThankYouThankYouThankYou
ThankYouThankYouThankYouThankYouThankYouThankYouThankYouThankYou
ThankYouThankYou.
And that’s all fine and good because three days later, our washer washed up. But we were expecting that and have been saving for a new one since April. And carefully timing our laundry schedule so no one has to wash clothes in the tub with soap and a stick (Dad’s bachelor days). If all goes well, a new washer will be delivered and hooked up later today, just in time for Dad to wrap up his weekend laundry chore. Mom bets he’ll still be whispering, “ThankYouThankYouThankYou,” under his breath long after Mom gets home from work.
I’ve been thinking, because all cats do that and should do that often. I live a comfortable life. I’m at the top of the food chain here and am top cat of the house, I can demand attention and ignore attention at my leisure, and should I find trouble, my parents make me famous by telling the internets, thus justifying my behavior.
That makes me an ideal cat. I don’t just think that. I know that.
But back to thinking, I live a comfortable life. I know where my food bowl is and if Mom doesn’t sprinkle some kibble in it around 6pm, I know I’m unhappy. When she “kibbles” me, I’m happy, or my belly is happy, which I guess, makes me happy. Now that I’m over my box phase, I know I’m happy snuggling on a kitchen chair and that I have four chairs to choose from. I don’t even mind (much) if the chair covers smell like that bratty little sister who, for fact, is starting to smell like me. Like I said, I’m top cat here. EVERYONE will smell like me eventually.
But again, back to thinking; I swear I’m not losing my train of thought here, I’m satisfied with my life and the time I’ve lived here. I’m thankful Mom and Dad didn’t decide to fill the house with tuxie cats after discovering how charming I turned out. I’m the only tuxie anyone ever needs.
Just because I said I was thankful, don’t confuse thanking with thinking. I’m a thinking cat, not so much a thanking cat. Thanking is for the other cats who should thank me for being a perfect top cat. I think this place would fall apart if I wasn’t. What? You think anyone else could run this place better than me?