A Very Catty Weekend

I did some catsitting this weekend. Snowball is an elderly tabby with a little meezer in her and enough attitude out her furry wazoo to scare off potential home invaders with one well-aimed spit-and-hiss. She's actually a darling little thing, but don't expect to be invited over for catnip. The girl has the social graces of Montecore before he chomped down on Roy Horn in Vegas. I'm trusting you not to tell her that, because she's totally temperamental and that's when the claws come out, you know.

To the left here is a bullshit re-enactment photo of Snowball. It adds about ten pounds on her, but since she's not going to see this, she can't be embarrassed.

So Snowball's spacious home is gorgeous. Front and back yards are lush with plants, trees, golf grass, and a relaxing water feature. Because her house backs up to the greenbelt, her masters are able to feed the deer and bunnies and cardinals and various other birds. Every morning and evening, the back yard transforms into a zoological garden, complete with a mister.

No, not a man mister -- I haven't found one of those I wanna hang out with on the weekend yet (Mr. Nice Guy turned into the Rushing Man and this girl ain't in no rush) -- but a fan mister. They also have what's called a Gazelle on the back porch -- no not a 4-legged deer-corn eater, but an elliptical type exerciser. Do I have to explain everything to you people? I had the mister strafing me full blast as I did some kind of cross country glidey thing on the Gazelle, shussing my way to fitness in 100+ degree temps. Snowball watched me through the window from her cool perch inside the house, snickering superciliously at my stupid human tricks (I might have tripped up on the glidey foot pedals and fallen on my ass).

Hey, Snowy, I saw that poochy muffin top you're lugging around, all swishy when you saunter across the room with your nose in the air! Cats think they're so above it all, you know? I bet she'd freak if I told you all that she dragged her butt across the floor and left me a couple of nuggets. Hey, Snowy, missed the catbox, darling.

Oh, look, there I am in Snowball's back yard. I kind of look like Cinderella, don't I? Just for the sake of full disclosure, I should mention that I'm wearing gym shorts and a new jog bra under that thing. Gazelling is just too hard in that prom get-up without being thoroughly outfitted underneath. Not insignificantly, my "girls" were so compressed in that jog bra, they practically went to sleep. You can kind of tell in this photo, can't you?

Only problem with my weekend was that my phone died and I didn't have internet. I didn't even know Walter Cronkite died until a couple hours ago! ("And that's the way it was . . ." my fave thing he said.) What did people do before technology? Mostly me and Snowball hung out around the diningroom table, where I watched the menagerie outside and made myself write a novel. I'm telling you, if it wasn't for Snowball, I'd still be banging my head in her Fancy Feast (situated strategically on the dining room table beside my laptop) and begging to be put out of my compositional misery. Snowball, except for that nasty supercilious snickering habit of hers, was the perfect mews.
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