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Tuesday, 11 March 2014

Cat Chronicles II

Photo: Harriet Eser Phillips/WritersClearinghouse News Service

Granger, Indiana
The Second of Two Parts
When I got up yesterday afternoon, post-lunch nap... I believe in that... I realized I had a mild dose of the sniffles.  My cure is simple, sit on the register and hope Mom turns up the heat.  Note the look of optimistic anticipation on my face.  Mom is basically very generous with all things, but when it comes to turning up the furnace to a temperature that is acceptable to a Feline Princess (somewhere around 78 degrees) she draws the line.  She tells me that the gas company blows excessive hot air at a hideous price and that we will not participate in this fraud.  She has adapted nicely, spending the winter in her "don't need much heat" costume.....which includes, in addition to sweat pants, long velour bathrobe, extra long tube socks....a gray fleece hoodie (causing the neighbors to ponder if the uni-bomber has in fact returned and therefore vacating the street when she adds a Loden great coat, also with hood, and black rubber boots for the trek to the mail box) only to find out the mail carrier was unwilling to brave the elements to deliver the bills.  Yes there are advantages in everything, if temporary. 

 Last night, she covered me with the down quilt, just my face exposed and kept her hand on my back all night.  It was very reassuring and snugly, so this morning I felt better.  We had our coffee (I prefer a teaspoon of evaporated milk, but she has a Keurig that spews the most dramatic clouds of steam). 
Then I had my breakfast, which seemed to cheer her up a lot as she believes that as long as I am eating, I am mending.  Mom will do anything to avoid a trip to the Clinic.  I detest the Clinic and make my utter displeasure very clear to all.  I snarl, growl like a Rottweiler and turn into a furry, squirmy hunk of ungraspable Jell-O. 
However, Mom has learned that if she requests Dr. Don, known throughout the area as "Cat Man," I am doomed to fail in my efforts to escape. Cat Man is a seasoned 30-year veteran fighter. He approaches his victim wearing ominous tan suede gloves, impenetrable to all but the most ardent warriors. He barely speaks, but announces immediately that he has subdued thousands of ill-behaved fuzzy patients in his career and still maintains a full set of digits.
I am defeated.  As long as he does not  attempt to fondle my stomach.... then of course the battle resumes.  There is a Cat Doc, however, whom I totally adore and would follow to the ends of Cat Earth.
Problem?  Yes, he is my Holiday Doc.... and practises in that bastion of lizards and butterflies, Naples, Florida.  Mom won't jet down for sniffles.  I'll tell you all about that later.
 I have now gone off for a major snooze.  Mom keeps a feather quilt rolled up on the floor in the guest bed room as it is to bulky to fit on the shelf (lucky for me).  I discovered this delight one day when she was dusting the shelves in the closet.  Now, being the considerate Mom that she is, she leaves the door slightly ajar so I can access this secret place.  Everybody seems to be coming "out of the closet," and I am hell bent on going in. It's a crazy world.
(Harriet Eser Phillips channels Cheeky's cheekiness).