I firmly believe you should either do things properly or not at all. Most of the time that gives me the perfect excuse not to do things. Today though, I’ve made an effort:
- One illegally downloaded Stevie Wonder single (Happy birthday to you)
- One photo of the cat, taken while it was sleeping (so it couldn’t escape or make silly faces - or kill me…)
- Five cheese sticks
- A handful of mouse-shaped meringues
(Check – check – check – check. Yes, good and ready indeed.)
The cat sleeps through the early preparations, which is a definite plus. So, I’ve been able to pin its photo (with a silly cap and pink mittens picture-pasted – or whatever it’s called precisely – in the right places) to its scratching post, without the cat trying to scratch my eyes out.
Now, it’s time to bring in the cat’s breakfast: a cake-shaped mess of cat food, with five cheese sticks playing candle sticks on top of it.
I wake the cat by throwing the mouse-shaped meringues in its general direction. It opens its eyes, stretches, looks disdainfully at the meringues, curses when it sees its picture and frowns at the breakfast dish I now place on the floor.
“Many happy returns.” I say.
“Oh, grow up.” says the cat.
Then I put on the Stevie Wonder song and the cat gets really abusive. It disapproves mightily of the singer and absolutely loathes this particular song.
So, the cat finishes its breakfast as quickly as it can – which is quite fast, considering all the hissing & booing and plain evil cursing it manages to do at the same time.
When it has finished its meal – at the same time as the repeat thingummy kicks in for the third time – it gives me its hottest, murder-most-foul look and says:
“You… you… you…!”
I smile sweetly back and say:
“Oh, I forgot: I’ve invited all your little friends to come over later, for a proper birthday party.”
The cat growls, takes a swipe at my right ankle (but misses – I saw that one coming from a mile off, thank you very much) and then leaves the room through the huff side of the catflap.
“Just kidding.” I mumble, looking at the mess the little monster has made of its birthday cake.
As if I would have invited even more felines to the house. Not bloody likely, that.
Still, I reflect, while I clean up the mess, shred the stupid photo having turned off the music first (since the cat is not the only one who deeply disapproves of that nauseating song), here’s to a job well and truly done.
It’s not often you can mess up a cat’s mind and the start of its day so thoroughly. It will pay me back in any number of highly interesting ways later, no doubt but for now I feel rather pleased with myself and the world.
Sipping from my first cup of tea, nibbling on one of the cat’s abandoned birthday candles and still feeling rather victorious, I start to make a list of all the people I might decide to annoy & insult later in the day, per E-mail, letter, through the phone or in some snooty column.
Right:
Bush, the milkman, the paperboy, Blair, that computer idiot from work, our own prime minister, that TV quiz host, the Pope, of course…
Hm; busy, busy, busy.
I pour myself another cup of tea, finish off the last cheese stick and put on some Dead Kennedys.
The big K was right, I decide – in a way:
Ask not what the world and its cat can do to you; ask what you can do to them first.
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