Robbin Bruce: The Boss at my house hates my guts
You know how there are moments in your life, when all the mysteries finally come together. You know what I mean, there’s this little itch on the back of your neck that’s telling you something isn’t right, but you can’t seem to put your finger on it. Well I had me one of those moments about eleven o’clock the other night, and it finally all came together. I am not the ruler of this house, and to be honest Mel isn’t either, though she may argue the point. And it’s not the kids either, though for years they may have for a while held the reins for a bit. Doc, forget about him, give him food and water and a place to sleep, he’s happy, nope it’s a little three-pound ball of fur we call Daisy, and the bad thing is, she knows it.
That’s right the cat, and if you have a cat you know I’m telling the truth. Because they do what they want to do, when they want to do it and you have no say so about it. You don’t believe me, I can prove it, just try calling a cat to come over and pet her. Here you are saying “Here kitty kitty,” and what does she do, just sit there and stare at you. It’s almost as if you can read her mind, “Isn’t he precious, I wonder if I sit here and stare at him long enough, will He get on the floor and roll around, just to get MY attention.”
I guess what made me think of this started the other night when I heard something in the kitchen around eleven or so. She was meow-ing for a solid five minutes, before I finally got up to see what was going on. Now I know when she’s meowing like that what she’s really doing is yelling, “Hey get off your fat butt and come in here, I got a problem.” So, when I get in there her water bowl was empty, big deal, but she’s still yelling at me. So when I filled it up, did she meow to thank me, did she rub my leg in gratitude, nope, just like usual, she ignored me! My usefulness to her was over.
She’s this way with me all the time. And if her food bowl is not full, not 1/3, not 1/2, but full, it’s as if her world’s coming to an end. Or if her litter box needs changing, it’s like I’m not holding up my end of the bargain, hey I didn’t go and get her from the pound. But that’s not the worst of it.
It’s the looks she gives me. That’s like she will crawl up on the back of the couch, and just flop there, with one paw hanging down. And stare at me, and I can almost hear what’s going through her mind, “You know I hate you, I hate your guts.” Or I’ll walk in the bedroom, and there she is sprawled out on my side of the bed, Aren’t you allergic to cats, guess who’s going to be sneezing tonight? Or like one night when I woke up, there she was looking down at me from the headboard, like she was daring me to close my eyes again. One time I woke up from a nap, and she was sitting on the arm rest of my chair, just staring at me, I’’ve never been able to sleep in it again, I don’t know what she was planning to do, but from the look in her eye, she was up to something.
But the thing is she hates my buddy Doc worse. He’ll just walk by her, and she’ll pop him right side the head. Or she will crawl on his bed just about the time he’s going to take a nap, and just stretch out, “What are you going to do about it?” Then he will look up at me, and I have to run her off, because he’s too scared. Then she sits and stares at me for an hour, “You know you have to sleep sometime.”
But Mel and the kids love her, why I don’t know, they don’t have to be around her all day. They will come in, and she will crawl in Mel’s lap and just stretch and purr, and Mel just eats it up. Then every once in a while I’ll look over there and there’s that look, that evil smile, as if you can read her mind,
“Say something I dare you, who she going to believe me or you?”
You can reach Robbin Bruce by e-mail at email@example.com.
Opinions that appear on this page in Letters to the Editor or in columns do not necessarily reflect the opinions of this newspaper.
Notice about comments: