Like most people, I probably spend too much time wondering what my cats are thinking or what their human voices would sound like. In the least, I picture them with pop-up speech bubbles to read their thoughts like sub-titles. To help put this wondering to an end and solve this issue for myself I have decided to write out a short story as if one of my cats was it’s narrator. Enjoy.
Harley’s Bad Day Brewing
“When did it get like this?” I feel the coolness of the window on my toes as I run my paw slowly down, pausing just below my chin. “How long do I have to live like this? In this place? With these people? Always on the inside looking out?” I run my paw down the window three more times just as slow, creating a faint sound of squeaking between my toes and the glass. “I thought you loved it here?” Diesel interrupted as he came sauntering in and sat himself on the heat vent just below the window’s edge to my left. Diesel always carries himself with an annoying yet affectionate nonchalance. He begins to wash his face, adding his optimistic opinions I didn’t ask for between the licks of his paw. “I love it here. I mean, sometimes I think I want a break, eat some grass, wander around the outside of the house and sniff the bushes, but they give us everything we need.” Or everything you need simpleton. I have to keep myself from saying this out loud.
Diesel never gives the impression of struggling with self-actualization. His needs are always basic: meals, litter box, cuddles, occasional hunting exercises with his training mouse. Happy to be carried around like a human toddler. He is even willing to engage in ‘conversation’ with these people at their own level, trying to mimic their ridiculous sounds. Diesel proceeds to sit flatly on the floor and extends a rear leg vertically into the air, positioning himself for a more personal bath. “I wish you wouldn’t do that here!” I say sharply as I start to walk away from the window and make my way into the kitchen, “it embarrasses us both.” “At least you know mine’s clean” Diesel casually throws back as he continues his bathing, unaffected by my chidings.
I don’t know what’s got me in such a detestable mood this morning. I walk over to Diesel’s empty bowl and start licking in hopes for remnants of his breakfast. Something’s off and I haven’t figured it out yet. That frustrates me, not being in control, of the situation or my emotions. Six, seven, eight, I continue to lick his bowl as I think to myself. “Why do I let this stuff get to me?” The truth is I haven’t even realized just what this ‘stuff’ is that has gotten me so agitated today. The air is different, something subtle. “Who keeps tickling me?”. I look and there’s no one there. I fix the fur on my back as furiously as I can before anyone sees and return to the bowl only to realize I’ve lost count. Way to go Harley. Now I’m even chastising myself, this is going to be quite the day.