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Feline Epiphany: A Cat Gets His Revenge
A few days have gone by since I found the forged Cats’ New Years’ Resolutions planted in my kitchen by my newly literary kitty, Chavez. Peace has not been particularly abundant in the household since.
Frida is happy enough. The conflict between her brothers has left her free to take possession of the pretty red hidey hole El Che got for Christmas last year. She also takes advantage of the time they spend in territorial disputes to bond with Mommy and get belly rubs from anyone with a free hand.
For the males in my kitty kingdom, it is a different story. Last night I noticed El Che flagrantly disobeying Chavez’s instruction to remain on perches no more than two and one-half feet from the ground. The stir from Chavez, located on a perch a few inches lower, was squelched with a few quick baps of El Che’s paw. Since my sleep wasn’t disrupted by cat howls or a 30-pound mass of black fur and claws tumbling across my bed at 3:00 a.m., I figured, at least for now, the conflict was resolved.
This morning, I booted up my laptop. What I found requires a bit of explanation: As most of you have read previously, Chavez, the older of my big boys, has recently learned to write with all those pens he has been snitching from me over the last four years. El Che, however, has long established himself as the more intelligent of the two.
So I wasn’t nearly as surprised as my readers may be to find that while I slept El Che was busy leaving his own message for me on my password-protected computer. Apparently, the cat who used to let my parakeets out of their cage and then come get me after his brother started chasing them has gotten fed-up with the dose of his own medicine that Chavez fed to him over the holidays.
The message on my computer this morning, neatly formatted and saved in Microsoft Word as El Che’s List of Grievances (I have since re-titled it El Che Tattles and saved it in El Che’s folder on my hard drive.) is as follows:
Chavez has been a very naughty kitty lately. I am glad Mommy caught him trying to make Frida and I obey the New Year’s resolutions he wrote for us. Frida doesn’t know how bad that could have been.
I wish Frida and Chavez would stop complaining about my bad breath. If Frida wouldn’t stick her head under mine to get me to lick her, she wouldn’t even know how my breath smells. As for Chavez, he needs to back off, and sometimes the best way to make him is by blowing a mouth of foul wind his direction. I’ll keep eating my tartar control treats because I like them, but I will not floss. Please, Mommy, don’t make me go to the dentist. I don’t stink that bad.
I have been a good Catholic cat, just like Mommy taught me. I say my prayers every night and ask St. Francis to pray for me too.
I’ve been celebrating every one of these 12 days of Christmas as well as I know how, but Chavez has been distracting me. He made friends with a couple of strays this Fall when we were playing out on the balcony, and they come up to talk sometimes at night. I told him they are bad, devil cats, just like Mommy said they are. He says they are hot and want him for his body. I don’t know how they could be hot living out there in the cold, and I can’t think of any reason why another cat would want Chavez’s body.
Now Chavez has gone a step too far and invited those cats over for a BYOB party on the Twelfth Night when we should be waiting for the three wise men. When I told him that, he smirked and said that if I am here, there wouldn’t be room for any more wise guys. Then I told him that he better not have those strays bring their own birds because I know how upset Mommy got when her parakeets died, but Chavez wouldn’t listen.
Please don’t let Chavez out on the balcony anymore, Mommy. He gets in all sorts of trouble, and then I have to put up with him. It might be a good idea to keep him in the dog house on the Twelfth Night, too. He might actually let those devil cats in. I don’t think we can trust them, or Chavez either.
Also, the wise men shouldn’t leave any gifts for Chavez this year.
Oh, brother! We’ll have to see, but my guess is that Chavez is correct and there isn’t room for any more wise guys at our house when El Che is home. In addition to no presents from the wise men, I’m also going to be much more careful about who gets to parade out on the balcony and when they get to do it.