|
|
|
Daisy Tells All
Lisa Hoffman, Charles Atkins and Daisy Published May 4, 2006
Daisy writes: When the cat case shaped like a London double-decker bus finds its way into the sunroom, something is up. It’s one of two things, either a needle-filled trip to the vet or a stay with Lisa. The first is no fun at all and the second is like a week at the kitty spa, where I’m able to give into the joy of what it truly means to be a Siamese cat. For those unfamiliar with me and my kind, I can sum up my philosophy in a single word, "mine". While Charlie and Lisa might object to the conjugation of possessive pronouns, I’d like to demonstrate the beauty of the word "mine". Here goes: what’s mine is mine, what’s yours is mine, what’s his, hers or theirs is mine mine mine. It’s simple and it’s elegant, and it is especially true for any humans in my domain—they’re mine! At times this becomes problematic and exhausting as there are two other cats in my house. I call them the big beefy girls. One can be fun for the occasional game of tag or string chase, but the other has never understood the concept of ‘mine’. Worse, they’re forever attempting to stake ownership on various human laps, which are mine, and so I am forced to chase them off. The other thing to know about me is I’m beautiful. It’s not vanity, but a statement of fact. I’m pretty and I’m selfish and if there’s anything to this reincarnation business I expect to come back as a celebutante (celebrity debutante) or maybe as the winning contestant on America’s Top Model. So out comes the cat case and Charlie pretending there’s nothing up. I know better, and to help him with his weight-loss regimen I lead him on an aerobic chase through the house. Eventually he tires and I let him catch me after several invigorating sprints up and down the stairs. Soon I’m being carted out to his Jeep. Being locked in a box is quite demeaning, and I’m not fond of car rides so I whine and complain at the top of my lungs to help pass the time. This is also very good training for my next incarnation as a celebutante or super model. The good news is that we don’t arrive at the veterinarian’s needle-filled house of horrors but instead it’s the Jasmine-scented kitty spa with Aunt Lisa. Oh joy of joys, no other cats in sight and all attention focused firmly where it should be—on me. For those who have never been to a spa it’s the ideal vacation. Indeed, I live my life as though I’m always at a resort. My day begins somewhere in the late morning. I get Lisa up to make me breakfast, while I do a bit of gentle stretching. After a wholesome meal I have Lisa give me a massage brushing and then it’s time to find a sunny spot and take my morning nap. As a devoted sun worshiper I stake out which windows catch the sun throughout the day. Occasionally, Lisa will come around and give me a massage and I’ve found that napping in her lap while she’s in the reclining chair by the window is most relaxing. My only complaint about the accommodations is that Lisa seems to always be on the telephone. The major problem with the telephone is that while people are on it, they’re not paying attention to me. Usually if I scream at the top of my lungs they eventually hang up. Although, Charlie has developed the annoying habit of leaving the room and locking me out. With Lisa, who is not terribly mobile, I’ve discovered that knocking the phone onto the floor fixes the problem quite nicely. If I bat it with a paw under her chair, it could be hours before she retrieves it. At one o’clock we watch All My Children, which is filled with pretty selfish people—I love it! Later, I spend a contemplative hour or two staring at the birdfeeder and imagine how tasty sparrows and chipmunks might be. It’s a full day, and between the naps, massages, beauty treatments and bird watching I work up an appetite. It’s so nice not to have other cats nosing around my food and I enjoy a leisurely meal of Chicken Delight. I hear it tastes like chipmunk. In the evening I again knock the phone to the floor and whine and complain when she tries to watch the news. I don’t like the news. In fact there’s nothing good on TV so I keep whining until Lisa shuts it off. The following day we have a visit from the Yoga instructor, who seems more interested in working with Lisa than with me. Again, getting back to the word ‘mine’ that’s not to be tolerated and after I’ve screamed and whined for ten minutes I get the Yoga instructor’s undivided attention. I’m not particularly happy with her comments about me being "neurotic" and "needy". I’ll write those off to her just not understanding the importance of ‘mine’. Still, the class is quite relaxing, and much of it I don’t remember as I nod off half way through. And so my week with Lisa passes in a pleasant series of naps, massages and soap operas. On Saturday I overhear Charlie on the phone—she keeps finding it—say he’ll be back tomorrow. Oh well, back to the beefy girls and the daily struggle to keep them away from what’s mine. I’ll think about that tomorrow, but right now, I’ll take a nap and dream about all of the wonderful things that are mine mine mine.
|
|
|
