Life (Moby)

One of my people writes about me a lot. Makes photos of me, sometimes annoying, if understandable. The one who feeds me first thing in the morning, although she's very slow about it at times. Still, as a household animus, I value ritual. I complain a bit, but nothing too much. I believe in being a polite person. The Other Dude talks to me most. I am his familiar, after all. Nice sweaters, he smells right.

I have now faded memories of my time in that loud, bad-smelly place, with those barking aliens, and no place to chase. Good solid hands, though. Limbo, I would say, not hell. And before, a time when I ran out of food, back in my kittenhood or a bit after. Can't stand not having any food in my dish, even if it's just the dry crunchy stuff. Even that... well, I've come to trust my people, I understand that they brought me home, now. Nice enough, respectful, if a bit slow. Good massages, and the food has gotten better, as did the toilets. Oh, wow, I do love going in for a good scratch, satisfies some primal urge. Oh, and the grass. Dude, I love the grass.

Not that they haven't done some nasty moves on me, messing with my paws, not letting me run out on the wooly carpet outside the door when I want, moving me off the swiveling chair just when I've gotten really comfortable. Putting me in that bag, once with that excruciating blare of light and clamor, and walked around with me in the cold. Don't know what that was all about.

I know about the Vets, if they have good hands, I can just chill, an occasional pinch, but nothing I can't handle. It's the bouncing swinging movement to get me there I can't abide, noxious odors, flung about, on wheels, I think. Ugh. They talk to me, reassurance I assume, I just have to cry.

I know they won't harm me, no hitting or yelling, not even with each other. I don't bite them either, and keep my claws in mostly - can't stand the feel of their skin under my claws. More, they know not to threaten me, which I respect, and tell them by licking them.

Oh, the picking me up. I like it, a bit at a time. Usually, I can just twitch, and they set me down with regal decorum, part of why I rather like them. Lately, they SNUGGLE with me, After I wriggle. Just not done. Still, they've been making sure I have a warm sunspot to lie in the last few weeks, very restorative. Helps.

I do love them, you understand. It's just that a cat has a life to live on his own. Dreams to dream, furry things to chase, bugs to eat, territory to mark. Most of all, I do have to take care of them, lie on them when they are ill or hurt and purr them better. Welcome them home, not hard, since I will get a good scritching to follow. I keep track of them when they are not here, listen for them. Cheer them up, wake them up, whatever it takes. I need to have my time alone to have the spiritual power to do my job here.


I know there is a bad event in the works. My people are worried, they sneeze loudly, and hold me too much. There are those flat papery surfaces, again. And changes in where my stool is put. Gives me interesting new places to explore, true. They make a point to tell me... something. Don't quite get their accents. The gist is that I am beloved, which I know. Nice to be told, though.

Better doze and dream a while.