Friday, 28 March 2014

Misty’s Diary: I’m sociable. And on a diet. Damn it

After a bit of a gap, I've managed to unearth another entry from Misty's diary, which I make available below for the general edification of mankind.

March 2014

Who’d be a cat? 

The domestic staff just appal me with their cheek. Why, you should have heard them last night, as they were chucking me out of the room. I mean, getting chucked out is bad enough. Hey, they let the dog spend the night, and all she does is lie on that silly mat of hers and snore. 

When I’m in the room, they don’t just get a presence, passive and dull, they get an experience. I’m genuinely affectionate, so I get right on the bed. Fairness is my middle name, so I make sure I give them both roughly equal time to enjoy the privilege of having me lying on them, and I go to the trouble of making sure I lie on different bits of them at different points of the night. I move around on the bed too, so that the duvet gets a bit of a fluffing up every now and then. 

You’d think they’d appreciate my thoughtfulness. 

What's it for if it isn't for sleeping on?
But no. They prefer to chuck me out. Unbelievable. 

As it happens, I thought they’d miss their opportunity last night, as I shot straight under the bed. Clever, I thought. They wouldn’t find me there. But obviously I had to come out, and the number 2 domestic was waiting. He pounced on me. 

And that’s when they added insult to injury. He made this great groaning sound over picking me up. If you don’t like picking me up, pal, you can just stop. You think I like it? I haven’t scratched you enough for you to get the message?

And that’s when the number 1 domestic added insult to injury. Really stuck the knife in. So disappointing, so treacherous, seeing I think of her as a bit of friend. Reliable, you know. A supporter.

“Careful of your back!” she called out to number 2. “He’s quite a lump, isn’t he?”

A lump? A lump? Me?

And the worst of it? They’ve put me on low-calorie feed! See what I mean about cheek?

See? At least six times my height to get at my bowl
And only to find it's low calorie...
Now, I admit I’m not anorexic. I like to think of myself as sleek. Particularly compared to them: they’re not exactly slim themselves. How shall I put this? Don’t want to call them lumps or anything – I don’t do rude, or at least not like them – but well – shall I just say “high BMI”? And when I go for food, I have to jump six times my height onto a shelf, and I do that just fine, thank you. I’d like to see them make that kind of effort. It’s about as much as they can do slump onto the sofa with their heaped plates of food, to watch TV while they stuff themselves. Pathetic.

To top it all,when they do that, they can’t even make a lap for me. They just sit there gobbling away and watching some bloody silly thriller with subtitles (do they think that a TV series has to be better for being in Italian or Danish? I suppose it does make it more mysterious but, hey, isn’t that something that ought to be left to the plot?)

I don't mind watching the series that actually make sense.
At least this one isn't in a foreign language
No lap means nowhere for me to lie. Which is pretty much the same as chucking me out of the bedroom. How can I show my affection if they don’t let me? And then domestic 2 moans on about me being anti-social.

Anti-social? He whinges about my weight. He chucks me out of the bedroom. He keeps me off his lap so he can stuff his fat face. And then he says I’m anti-social?

Anti-social, me?
Here I am entertaining domestic number 1
and one of her friends
Actually, I like nothing better than company. Unlike him I have real manners. And I’m happy to blend in with others.

Look. I'm even nice to the neighbours
If he’s not getting that treatment, isn’t it perhaps time he asked himself what he’s doing wrong, rather than me?

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