0
0
Emma here, coming to you from my perch on the end table by Deborah’s computer. I’m monitoring Deborah because I want to make sure she writes every word of this particular story correctly, and trust me, I have my ways to tell, even though I’m too busy to learn to read and write.
Well, I’m certainly not happy that my brother’s been telling lies about me again (and it won’t pass unnoticed), but then again, I’m even less pleased with Deborah right now, so it’s time to tell you a little story about how terribly she treats us.
How should I start? Well, the thing is, that Deborah insists on leaving us for days at a time, on these things she refers to as “vacations” and “traveling.” I can’t see how she gets along without us when she’s gone—it’s obvious we’re the sunshine of her days.
At any rate, it’s clear that she leaves us. In fact, such an episode just occurred. Thankfully, we’re always prepared for these things. We’ve come to recognize the signs. She first disappears into her closet for long periods in the evening—something she rarely does unless she’s going away. And then, at some point, we can hear her rummaging around and then she’ll come out of her closet with a backpack or two.
If it’s a long trip, she’ll leave the apartment and return a bit later with a large, terribly interesting container she calls a suitcase, which always is fun to poke around in. It always has fascinating smells on it, too—particularly when she returns from her trip and doesn’t put it away for a few days. But when we see it, it’s always the beginning of the end, and we know it.
She also has this odd wandering movement that starts about this time. It’s perfectly obvious she’s going around putting books and clothes and such into these suitcases and backpacks, and yet she tries to hide these actions from us, furtively skulking about the apartment, leaving us in Our Room and continuing to spend an unusual amount of time in her closet. Since she’s usually either out, writing, reading, or fairly inactive in the evenings (except when she exercises, which is a fascinating ritual we’ll tell you about later, or has guests, something else we’ll cover), just the activity gives her away. But she tries to hide it from us, nonetheless.
She wanders in and out of Our Room, doing the things she rarely does so methodically otherwise. For instance, she changes our litter (don’t even get me started on my litter tirade). Often she’ll stop in her tracks, look around her absentmindedly, and then turn and take a different direction entirely. Sometimes she’ll go into the closet if she just came from there, or out of the room if she just entered. We know these strange actions for what they are, and we start to prepare ourselves with palpitating hearts.
But it’s not until the next morning that things become entirely clear. It’s then that she starts to bring in the extra bowls of food and water, which sets it all in stone. That’s always an anxious moment for us. We count them carefully, and start to plan. What if her messenger (she always has one?) fails to come? How many days should we hoard the food and water for? Is this the nice one that comes regularly, pets us, and actually takes pains to keep us from going so crazy from loneliness, or is it the one that comes infrequently, feeds us, and leaves without so much as saying boo?
Well, of course, we don’t dare eat or drink too much—a smart cat plans well, after all. And we worry so much about Deborah the whole time she’s gone. I mean, what would happen to us if something happened to her in England, Alaska, or those other bizarre and foreign places we’ve heard her claim to have been to?
If somehow some accident happened while she was gone, who would take care of us? Who would clean our litter? Who would get us fresh food and water regularly? Who would pet and play with us on a regular basis? Goodness knows The Roommate wouldn’t be much good—she’s bound to give us away to those gypsy things she keeps mentioning. However much we whine about her, deep down, we really like Deborah.
So we get a teeny bit anxious when she’s gone. Surely, then, it’s understandable that, from time to time, we might get worried enough to get a wee bit sick, or to, say knock over a lamp or two and then chew on the fascinating wires that appear afterwards (okay, so I’m not quite that foolhardy—it was Winston who was doing the chewing. I just wanted to see if the lamp would make a nice satisfying crash, and, incidentally, it did).
What can I say? We need to work off our nervous energy somehow. And it’s not like we have a lot of company to keep us entertained. We get a bit bored and lonely. Whatever might have happened while she’s gone, it’s all Deborah’s fault. Goodness knows none of it would ever happen if she didn’t have the gall to go on vacation. Really, I don’t know how she dares.
Anyway, her messenger was the nice attentive one this time, and she did finally come back, but she was gone what seemed like forever. Yeah, it was nice that she was around more than usual the few days after she got back, but that doesn’t excuse the absence. It’s just not right, the way she treats us.
It’s as though she thinks we’re here for her or something, instead of the other way around. What a funny notion that would be! Wow, that amuses me. Hey Winston, come over here and hear this weird idea that I just came up with! Well, I’m much too out of breath and purring hard at that hilarious thought to go on any longer, so until next time, this is Emma for “The Cat’s Eye View of Entertainment.”
