George’s Diary

Dear Diary,

I woke up this morning with a smile on my face because when you’re a cat, every day is Caturday.  My first order of business was to acquire a saucer of milk.  My caretaker is usually slow to get out of bed even though she has several loud machines that beep every morning until she throws them at the wall.  This morning, I tried to speed up the process by hitting her face with my paws and tail while screaming “I’m hungry.” When she finally sat up, I proudly led the way to the kitchen, excited about the tasty milk I was about to receive.  But she didn’t follow me.

I turned around to see the bathroom door closing, so I ran and pounced on it.  I don’t allow closed doors, so I often use my brute muscular force to open them.  After all, it’s my job to know everything that goes on in the house.

She often spends what seems like forever getting ready for the day.  I honestly don’t see the point, and I don’t think it really makes that much difference.  But I’m just a cat with an incredibly fashionable fur coat, so what do I know anyway?

Finally, she entered the kitchen and filled my food, water, and milk bowls.  I started purring and salivating once I saw the milk.  She took my purr to mean “thank you,” and replied, “You’re welcome.”  Clearly, she didn’t know that that purr meant “You took too long once again, but I’ll forgive you because I’m generous.”

When she left, she failed to leave the light on for me.  When the sun’s out I can use the natural light, but the darkness makes me sleepy.  It’s not my fault that cats are accused of sleeping so much!  You try staying in a house for hours without a light on and see if you don’t fall asleep.  I bet you couldn’t do it either.

After breakfast, I went straight into my early grooming session.  It was exhausting, so I took a little nap. When I woke up, I realized I was starving again, so I sleepily wandered into the kitchen for another meal.

I spent my afternoon strategically placing tufts of my fur on the carpet and living room furniture.  I leave my loose fur in a different pattern every day, but it usually goes completely unnoticed by my caretaker.  I mean, she doesn’t smile at my fur art or even pat me on the head for it.  Instead, she punishes me by lugging out her barbaric vacuum to destroy my art.  It frightens me and I usually spend the next few hours cowering in fear that the vacuum might eat me. Then she feels bad and tries to pet me.  Even though I’m still upset, I allow it, and even toss in a little obligatory purring, just for kicks.

When I had finished arranging my fur, I settled on my chair for a brief rest.  No more than 2 minutes had passed before the door opened and she walked in.  The first thing out of her mouth was, “Is that what you’ve been doing all day, George? Sleeping?”  Realizing I couldn’t possibly convince her otherwise, I stretched out and rolled onto my belly.

Can’t wait for my milk tomorrow!  My stomach’s already rumbling.



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