Jan. 10th, 2010

chrissigrl: (Default)
My Cat* is nigh on 21 years old. At this point in the game, she is a minimum of 147 cat years old, and I begrudge her nothing.

This includes but is not exclusive to:
- bites of People Food (though over the years, she's become something of a "picky" eater- She loves anything poultry, but turns up her whiskers at meatloaf.) If she likes whatever it is, she gets multiple bites

- Pets any time she likes. Her favorite one is the one where you cup your thumb and pointer finger around her face so her eyes pull back like a kitty with a Rodeo Drive face lift.

- a stockpile of tiny cell batteries for her $60 laser pointer (it came in a gift bag and she likes playing with it, so now it's hers. The way I figure it, if you still have the urge to play and chase things when you're 147, you should have a quality toy to do it with). We keep the batteries around for the laser pointer and the laser pointer alone.

- most importantly, she is granted entrance to The Tree Room. This cat LOVES a Christmas tree. She has a favorite ornament (a wool armadillo my mother bought while on tour a few years ago), likes to gnaw on the the tinsel, and she loves to partake in the Dom Perignon of the feline world and drink the water out of the Christmas Tree stand. I don't really get it. She'll sit there next to a full bowl of filtered water in her dish, but she'll wait until the door to the Tree Room is left open and run for it. Eventually, someone will notice there is no cat underfoot and find her half-drunk in a yuletide induced haze, wrapped in tinsel.

Unfortunately for her, my mother has started using vintage lead-based tinsel as a finishing touch (I think it's tacky as sin, but it reminds her of the Christmas of her childhood, so I won't judge), and has also put a family heirloom rug on the floor of The Tree Room. The cat likes to gnaw on the lead tinsel and pee on this rug in particular, so she can't lap up the Christmas joy unless it's supervised to make sure she doesn't poison herself.

The cat has figured out that I'M the soft touch. If I'm visiting my parents (which is often), she comes running up to me, walks herself around my ankles, and then stares pitifully and the gate mewls in a way that rips my heart out. So I spend an awful lot of time sitting on the carpet by the tree, alternately shining a laser pointer over the floor and making sure the cat doesn't pee on the heirloom carpet. It's worth it, though, since she likes it so much.

The cat who loves Christmas
This cat has me wrapped around her ancient little paw.

*I should specify, "MY" cat, is the cat I've grown up with, in my parent's house.
MY cats, the Scottish folds I've blogged about countless times, are currently residing with my sister on Long Island.


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