ode to the crabby cat

An even more perfect day, so beautiful it hurts. It will be a hot, proud Pride Parade today. But I can't sit here wallowing in admiration for long - there's watering to do. The garden is like a pet that won't allow me to go away for more than a day. It needs me to be here, tending. And anyway, I need to be here eating raspberries. Every day, after supper, I go out and pick dessert.

Speaking of pets, my ridiculous cat made me laugh so often yesterday. Even though she's most unsatisfactory, not allowing her crabby self to be much petted, not knowing how to purr, still, she's lovely, a tabby with white boots and those amazingly intricate stripes. I realized yesterday how necessary cats are for the blood pressure. Just looking at her calms me down. She has two periods of activity during her gruelling day - first thing in the morning, miaowing and twining herself around my legs until I put down her wet food; and around noon, when it's time for her dry food. She doesn't miaow then, thinking that kind of effort unnecessary. She just stands looking at the spot where her dish should be, and then up at me, with a bewildered stare - it's not there! Where could it be? Is my selfish slave too lazy to get up, thus leaving me to starve? Could that possibly happen to a creature as lovely as I?

So I get up.

Otherwise, she sleeps. Sideways, upside down, paws splayed or tucked under in a wondrous variety of poses. And that's why she's so good for the health. Compared to her, I am the hardest working person on earth. Even if I spent the day lying on the sofa watching TV and eating chocolates, I'd still have accomplished a million times more than my cat. She makes me feel productive, focussed, an admirably disciplined working machine. And just for that, let alone the laughter she evokes and my soft spot for those pretty white boots, she's worth her considerable weight in Meow Mix.