I love looking at life through the eyes of my children. In viewing a favorite movie, or them opening Christmas gifts or the simple joy of praise from their parent, giving them a sense of confidence. I’m constantly watching for it. But what about life through the eyes of my household life, money and emotion suckers.. the cats?
I’m talking about one Nigel and one Whitney. Two buttheads but beautiful ones at that. Let us take a deeper looksee.
I stumbled upon Nigel. My wife at the time wanted a pet so she sought and picked out Nigel. I came up with the name (I say that as though I cured cancer) for her when we were under the impression she was a he. Obviously later, when he went into heat, it became known that he was a she.
But the name stuck. And from day one, she was not the typical feline. Words like jerk and arsehole come to mind. She will never jump up and sit on your lap. If you corner her and pet her, her tail will move like the dickens, signifying her discomfort. And she will bite, daily in fact, from petting. If you call her name, she won’t look at you yet if she wants some treats, she acts as though she’s the most loving pet this world has ever seen.
I often wonder what’s going on in her fluffy cat head. Her expressions typically match her bitchy demeanor. I picture she holds us all in the most contempt, only momentarily happy when she is fed. She looks at life like a sour puss and I firmly believe I need to introduce a cat whisperer into the mix with the hopes of rewiring her immensely rude brain to be a normal, loving cat. The process I know she would hate and that itself gives me brief pleasure, as does imagining freeing myself of her gloomy misdemeanour by simply letting her outside and never looking back. How did I get here? I don’t know but it’s definitely her fault.
After the ex wife moved out, the second door prize was her abandoning/leaving Nigel with us. Some time went by and I figured she would like a compadre or a partner in kitty krime, if you will. So I conjured up Whitney (my kids named her..), a Bengal/Siamese mix. Now this was a normal cat! Cuddly, affectionate and nothing like Nigel. Whitney is majestic as she is domestic. She’s unemployed but she’s neither null nor void.
Sometimes I sit back (as opposed to sitting front) and I gaze at little Whitney Spears. I feel like she’d look really comfortable in a snug turtleneck. And I also often imagine what is happening in her medulla oblongotta. I honestly don’t think it gets very deep with her. If Whitney and Nigel had a think-off, though downright evil, Nigel would saunter away with the medal. Whitney thinks of new places to nap, where did she lose that toy and food. These are the basics to what I believe is healthy cat rationale.
Alas, seeing life through the eyes and hearts of two house cats, though polar opposites, matters little. I am serious about the whisperer however. If nothing is changeable with Nigels outlook on life, maybe this person could convince them to be glad they aren’t chickens. Or pigs. Or any edible item in the food chain. Or that I am not Chinese. If they were to grasp these simple truths, they might be just a fraction more grateful and at the end of the day, that’s really all one can ask for.
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