A conversation with The Cat

 

I was at a loss. I had a headache and I was tired. Plus I was also working.

I looked at Rascal.

"I've got nothing," I said. "No topic to write about."

"I can tell," he squeaked. "You're toast. Plus you look like (bleep)."

"Thanks."

"Well didn't that guy tell you yesterday on the Zoom call for the podcast that you have a 'face for radio?'"

"Yeah. Because I haven't heard that one a few times in 30 years or so."

"Well stop being a tired old.."

"Is this supposed to be helping me?"

"Not really," he purred, before stopping to give himself a bath. You know, that classic move of licking his paw and rubbing it all over his face. "But it's helping me."

Damn. He was right about that. He seemed fairly amused, if not proud of what he was saying.

"You realize," he continued, "that if you keep talking to me, and interrupting me from sleeping/napping/whatever it is I do, that I'll be back to bouncing off the walls and walking across that table you're working on. Who are you 'Zooming' with tonight?"

"Singapore," I said, shocked that he'd been paying attention. "Same as those other nights I've sat in here."

"You don't want to wind me back up again, do you? I'm sure Singapore would just love that."

"Well..."

"I saw there was a cat in the background of that Zoom call yesterday. Do you expect me to be all docile like that thing?"

"Well, yes. Most of the time."

"Hahahahahahahahahaahaha."

"You've literally been of no help to me," I added. "You were sent here for me. Keep me from the blues and so on."

"Ha! Like do the dishes and some laundry and vacuum? Maybe some handyman stuff? Are you on crack, man? Oh, wait. That's me on catnip. All of that stuff is on you, Dude.

"Look, you know the deal. I know Bandit, Fred, Chico and a few others taught you that. I do what I want basically WHEN I want. I'll sort of do the snuggle thing occasionally. But it's on my terms."

He had me. Checkmate. Plus, he had called me "Dude."

The Cat pondered his next move. Go bug Sean, on his computer a room away? Go ignore the food in his dish? Make further messes in a variety of ways? Bite the hand that feeds him -- literally?

All in good time, I suppose. He opted to finish bathing before he curled up on the bed.

"Find a topic, Bro," he said, mockingly, perturbed that I had bothered him. "You do this every night. I'm going to sleep. Since you're going to try to sleep late tomorrow, I'll wake you up nice and early."

Those last words oozed out of him, as if he were stalking a mouse. Then, he paused.

"Write about that."

So, I did.