Friday, 12 August 2016

Luci's diary: amazed at my amazedness

It’s amazing what amazes human number 2.

The other day, number 1 wasn’t feeling too well, so she went to bed. It’s true that normally I lie next to number 2 on the couch as he taps away annoyingly on his computer, biting his hands sometimes to make him stop, but that gets him annoyed and makes him even more annoying.

“Stop that, Luci,” he says in a pathetic voice, “lie down.”

But he always strokes me while he’s saying it, so what does he expect me to do? If he rewards me, I keep on going. If he punishes me, I’ll stop.

Well, I assume I would, but he’s never actually got around to punishing me, so I’m not sure what I would do, really.

Or does he think raising his voice is a punishment? I just bark at him. And I make a lot more noise than he does, so I tend to get the better of those exchanges too.

Anyway. Like I was saying. Normally I lie on the couch next to him while he gets on with what he calls work, though how anything you do sitting down can really be called work, I can’t imagine. But that was number 1 upstairs. And in bed. Of course I went upstairs too.

Maybe he was upset. You know. Felt neglected and all that. 

What he did was sneak into the kitchen. With a banana. A banana. My absolutely best food ever. Maybe he thought I wouldn’t notice. But you know the noise a banana makes when the peel gets broken? It’s so distinctive. Of course I heard it, and I nipped downstairs immediately.

I knew I had to be specially endearing. He might have been upset, after all. So I did the whole act. I made sure I went tappy-tappy-tappy with my paws on the floor, because he likes that.  And I got the tail going so hard it made my whole behind wag. And the eyes thing: deep pools of pathetic black that just cry out, “please, please be nice. Feed me, feed me.”

It’s the sad eyes that work the magic. Every time
It worked too. He’d eaten quite a lot of the banana but there must have been a third of it left, I reckon. And, instead of chopping it up into silly little bits, he just fed me the whole thing. Much better than the choppy-uppy way. I got lots more.

It seems he was amazed that I’d heard him.

“How did you know?” he kept saying. “All the way upstairs, with doors in between and everything, and you still knew I was having a banana.”

Well, yeah. Duh. If I hadn’t known I wouldn’t have been there, would I? I mean, why give up on a perfectly good rest in the bed if there wasn’t a banana going?

She came down later and they had dinner in the garden. That’s always good because they’re less careful about not dropping things in the garden. I can get quite a good meal out there. Misty joined us for a while, but then he went and climbed on to a shed roof.

“Look at the cat,” she said, “he’s worrying the honeysuckle.”

It was true. He was batting the top flowers with his paw. Which seemed unfair: they hadn’t done anything to him.

“I shouldn’t think they’ll mind,” said number 2, who really likes pointing out the bleeding obvious. I mean, I don’t expect they even noticed. They’re pretty dumb, flowers are.

“Yes,” she said, “but I don’t see the point. Why can’t he leave them alone?”

And as soon as she’d said it, Misty moved away.

What is he thinking of? Why let them know we speak English? Why give up that advantage?

I’m certainly not going to.

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