I just don’t understand my humans sometimes

My mom writes about me a lot. I’m her mews, so she says. I sit in my cat castle (it overlooks her desk and laptop) and watch her tap away. I’ve tried helping her. I can press those keys, too. They are kind of fun to walk on. But she always puts me back into my cat castle, or picks me up off her desk/laptop and puts me on the floor. So, really, I’m not so sure about this mews thing.

My vocalized mews don’t always receive the desired result, either. My cries of hunger often go unanswered. She pets me instead, or brushes me. Sometimes, out comes that buzzing tool that takes off hunks of my matted fur. What’s up with that? I don’t want to imply she’s an idiot, but I’m sitting by my food dish, crying piteously, making eye contact, winding around her legs and sniffing at the food-containment cans stacked next to my food station. And I get petting or grooming responses?

Or, the worst, she ignores me and walks away. Sometimes, she pets me first, which I do love, especially when I get chin skritches and that two-handed rubbing thing she does over my whole body — and then, zing, out the door she goes. I don’t think she truly understands. Maybe she’s just self-absorbed and doesn’t care. So, I settle in and nap until she comes back home, and we start all over.

Then there’s the emotional torture dragon. Terror seizes me when I hear the wheels clatter as Mom brings her monster to my room (where the cat castle and her laptop reside). I hate that sound. Cuz I know what’s coming. I try to hide, make myself small. Maybe it won’t come in here. Maybe it – Nope! Mom pushes it into my line of sight. I hiss to make my feelings known. Then it starts growling – LOUD! So loud. Mom pushes it around. It gets closer and closer to where I’m scrunched up on the chair. I can’t take it. I leap as far as I can to get past it and run to the other end of the house. To safety. I cringe behind the box of grit where I do my business and wait for the monster to go to sleep. I don’t know why Mom does this. If I could kill it, I would. But it’s so scary. 

Sometimes, Mom will open the closet where I’m hiding and coax me out with a treat. Oh, she has good treats. Those tubes of yummy goodness. Most of the time I have to share with Mufasa. That scrounge. I race to lap up my share and then as much of Mufasa’s as I can if he’s been too slow. Sometimes, Mom gives us another to share. So good. 

My favorite time is after I’ve had a good meal. My tummy is happy. Mom is in the big room on the couch, curled up with a blanket and looking at that weird brick in her hand, occasionally pushing a  feather aside and watching the next one. (I don’t get that.) Mufasa always has to be on the pillow by her head. The brat. So, I find a spot by her feet. And then she reaches over and pets me, coos to me and snuggles me with her feet.

She’s the best.