Experiences and Adventures
with soft paws
|Have can opener, will travel|
Now, the goings-on here, not even the strongest tom could stand it.
There are packing cartons everywhere. That's a good thing. I can hide wonderfully in them. But my can openers have been running around for days now like headless chickens.
Just as I have selected a box as my new bed, some person comes along, ruins my best dreams, dumps me out of the box, and says, “Mickey, stop getting into the boxes. We are going to need all of them to pack our stuff in. Go play outside for awhile.”
But I don't want to go outside. It's always so nice at home when everyone is here.
Coziness is the one thing that is lacking right now, though. So I trot off, but not before I give my keepers a scornful look that says, “How dare you disturb me?”
As a punishment, I let my tail hang down so that the tip almost touches the ground. That always makes them feel guilty and they cuddle me right away. Today, though, it unfortunately doesn't work.
Everything is being packed. What is all this, anyway?
I think I know. They want to move. At least, that's what I overheard them say.
They thought I was sleeping, but I'm pretty clever. I was just pretending.
Then my mistress, my favorite can opener, came to me and told me, “You are going to have a new home.” My heart sank almost to the tip of my tail.
”Hey, what does that mean - a new home - I like it here quite fine. I don't want to go anywhere else.”
I mean, our roommate and my greatest foe, also a housetiger, she can move out any time she wants. She is so conceited. She always walks around with her nose in the air. Only shows me her shiny black backside. When it comes to slapping faces, though, she is not exactly prissy. Now and then I pay her back, though. In moments when none of my two-legged friends are looking, I might land a swat or two. That always starts a great boxing match.
And, like all girl cats, she screams bloody murder, so that I get fussed by my mistress.
Women - who can understand them!
Photo : Yuri Galanter, www.galanter.net
Then my can opener informed me that we would all be moving together.
Exhale slowly - for a moment I thought they wanted to replace me with a new cat because I don't get along with my foe at all or something like that.
In any case, I was really worried. I was even almost ready to act like I was in love with Lilly. But only almost. Thank goodness, that doesn't seem to be necessary.
So anyway, the day comes when a huge truck stops in front of our house. A couple of men get out - one of them greets me quite amicably, I find him very nice, but I skedaddle anyway.
The come with horrible instruments of torture. Break the furniture down into individual pieces and my mistress doesn't even get upset. How unfair!
Just think how she scolded me, just for knocking the flowerpot down from the windowsill. And that was an accident. How could I help it that a beautiful butterfly chose to hide directly behind that exact pot? Ha, he thought I couldn't see him. But I did. And as went to snatch him, that's when it happened. The pot fell to the floor, crashed into a thousand pieces. My mistress cam a-running and scolded me like mad. And, to top it all off, she carefully helped the butterfly back outside.
What bad luck - no prey, no petting, just scolding.
And now there are so many people here, and each one is breaking something, and my mistress whispers in an affectionate tone, “May I offer you some coffee?” She never offers ME anything when I break something.
Well, I think right now I'd rather go outside, lie in the sun, and roll about on the ground so that my fur is really dusty. That's what she gets. Then she can at least pet me long enough to get me all clean again. I gladly allow petting, but not brushing, because that always snags terribly. Actually, I could do it myself, but it's a lot nicer when she does it.
I scout out a nice spot where I can dose the day away without being disturbed. Only… all of a sudden it's awfully quiet in the house. No instruments of torture to be heard. No voices. I get a weak feeling around the belly. I'd better go see what's going on in there.
So, through the cat door into the conservatory and - uh-oh.
All of the doors are locked. Alright, enough nonsense now!!!
I call and call as loudly as I can. Until my voice is hoarse. But no-one comes. What a shock!. They completely forgot me after all. My goodness, I have to figure out what to do now. But I can't think of anything clever. And all the heavy thinking makes me so tired that I roll up onto the doormat for a quick nap.
Time will tell.
Hey, what was that? Was that a familiar voice? Or did I just dream it? No, now I can hear it quite clearly. My mistress is calling my name quite clearly. “Mickey, where are you? Come on, we're going to take you on a trip.”
What silliness. They've never taken me on a trip. But I don't care about that right now. I am so happy to finally hear a familiar voice. And then? Yeah, and then suddenly a pair of hands grab me and force me into this awful basket that I hate to death. Because it always means a visit to the vet, who always puts horrible things under my fur that prick me terribly.
I am taken to the car. “Help, I'm being kidnapped!” But nobody reacts to my pitiful meows. What a horrible world....
After a million years this stinking jalopy finally stops. The basket shakes and quakes. Then I'm let out. Just like that. The door of the basket is opened, but everything smells so foreign here. I'm not going out there!
I hear lots of familiar voices that try to coax me out. My master says it's better if I stay locked in my basket for now. Fortunately, my mistress doesn't allow that, though. The door stays open.
And so I remain, hour after hour. No amount of cajoling helps. Besides, there are still all of those strange voices out there and I hear those instruments of torture again. From what I can see from my hideout, those men who broke all the furniture are putting it back together again, piece by piece.
Hey, why didn't that work with the flowerpot? Where were you guys when I needed your help so badly?
I am so curious that I dare to stick the tip of my nose very carefully out of the door. Check out the strange smells first. Hmmmm, I can't really make sense of anything.
And then it happens. Some idiot knocks my oh-so-safe transport box with a chair. I get such a huge shock that I scramble out like I was stung by a tarantula and race up the stairs - the first best path I found - and into a hiding place.
Oh, you should have seen the excitement. Never in my life have I seen so many two-legged people search for me for so many hours. Everyone had to help. My mistress was in a panic that I could have found my way to the open front door. My master griped, “I told you we should have shut him in his basket.” Everyone called and searched and searched. Upstairs and downstairs, in the cellar and upstairs again and downstairs again and back in the cellar.
I didn't make a peep. Let them really worry about me for awhile.
That was certainly fun! All the excitement wore me out, though, so that my eyes suddenly closed.
First a couple hours of sleep.
To this day, I haven't let them know where I hid.
Many thanks to Brigitte Niggemann for this contribution!
Herzlichen Dank für die Übersetzung an EvaSara Tullier !
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