My friends returned from vacation to find that their cat, “Mr. Diggums,” had left a diary of his days. What follows is an excerpt.
Day One: I knew it: mom and dad left, dragging bags. Gone! But I’ll get mine, and give them an extra ration of GRIEF when they get back. Anyway, I’m in the back room, waiting for the feeders and I hear the door clicking and clacking and this strange, high-pitched male voice saying “Baby!” What? That’s mom’s nickname for me? Who is this?
I come out cat-cool, and this dude is dropping keys on the table, squealing “Baby!” in that phony voice, so I come up behind him and put my tail on his leg, and he jumped: I love when that happens.
Dude eases around the room, checks my water and food bowls. Voice is coming down in pitch some, thank Cat: it was starting to irritate me. I jumped up on the counter, faked a belly exposure and when he reached for a rub, I gave him my patented “four bats and a munch.”
So the dude sits on the couch — in my spot! But I’m cool, and watch him from the kitchen counter. He fusses with the clickers, and the box comes on and he stares at it, drinking from a green bottle and — I guess — talking to me in what might be his normal voice. Anyway, dude left. Never did get the box right, but that’s OK: he got the food right.
Day Two: You know, this dude best figure out something: I need my wet food. Guy came in about cat o’clock, and I was miffed, so I gave him cattitude from the sofa. Of course, when I got the wet food, I gave him a couple of “meows,” so he would remember he was dealing with a cat.
Day Three: He found the flashy-thing.
You know — the flashy-thing is a big giant hairball in my throat. People start the flashy-thing thing, and I’M supposed to go all cat-whacky and chase it around. But you have to humor the bi-peds so I gave him a show. When I got bored, I jumped up on the kitchen counter and started to hork. He looked concerned, but I didn’t hack one up; just wanted to remind him who the boss was.
Anyway, the guy bags the trash and then: he books! Out the door, bam! no “see-ya,” just gone! Well, this is the sad part, and I am ashamed to say it, but the guy came back, and when he opened the door, he busted me giving up the meows. So, OK, I wanted him — this is hard to admit, but: I wanted him to be there. Just to have somebody to punk, you know?
When he left, I had to bat the window blinds, to get the taste of caring out of my mouth.
Day Five: This has gone on LONG ENOUGH! Where are mom and dad? I’m meeting him at the door, now! He probably doesn’t know that cats have a limited caring capacity, and thinks he’s worked his way into the rotation. Not a chance, maybe.
I don’t know why I jumped onto my bed with him, and settled onto the newspaper beside him, but I jumped down, and then onto the table, to see if I could push his coffee cup onto the floor. He watched the box for a while then fell asleep. I sat on the table and watched him and when he left, I gave him a grade-A rub-up at the door.
He does try. He might be all right.