If there is one predictable thing about my life it’s that I have two cups of coffee every morning. After that, anything goes. I relish what I can rely on every day. If I were on Survivor I would expect my two cups every morning with one tablespoon each of cream and sugar. Then I could scavenge the woods for edible berries for food and sticks to build a shelter. I would spear fish and back stab my friends. I would do these things only under the influence of my coffee. But alas, they do not allow such basic survival needs on this show, which is why it’s called Survivor: people trying to get along without coffee—which everyone knows can’t be done. So needless to say, I depend on and love my coffee. I love other things too, but the subject today is coffee. And cats.
See, I love cats, not as much as I love coffee, but hey, I love them. I have four in count. Three of these cats feel like three cats and one feels like ten cats. So I guess I have thirteen cats. Let’s talk about that ONE that is TEN. His name is Snowpea.
Snowpea is a hyper, hyper Siamese boy of two years old—not current on the average cat lifespan but his just got shorter. My sweet, sweet boy is the only one of four who does not abide by house rules. He jumps on counters, opens the door on you while you’re in the bathroom, escapes to outside when he is indoor only (for the neighbors’ safety, not his), and takes things that do not belong to him. He is the Dennis the Menace of cats. And I’m Mr. Wilson.
This morning while stirring my tablespoon each of sugar and cream into my second cup of coffee, said hyper, misbehaved menace jumped onto the counter and knocked over my coffee. Then Sir Hyper was in hot water, so to speak, and freaked out, splishing and a splashing and a slipping and a sliding all over the counter tops and walls and ceiling. The coffee that should have been in my bloodstream was now everywhere but. Dennis the Cat dive bombed off the counter and tracked coffee all through the house. Even my hair dripped coffee. And I was not happy.
Soon Mr. Indoors Only was outside where I tossed placed him so he could lick the coffee off and terrorize the neighbors with his extra energy caffeine booster. Meanwhile, I had no time to brew more (coffee) since I had to get my daughter to school in a timely manner, which at that point was merely late.
Later, feeling rather sluggish, I almost made no move to retrieve him when I saw he had jumped in the open window of my neighbor’s gardener’s truck. He stood on the seat with his paws at the wheel, panting, eyes bugged and twirling like carnival pinwheels. In my deficiency, in my fog, I dragged myself outside to fetch the critter. I reached in the stranger’s car like it was nobody’s business and pulled him off the steering wheel. I’m not sure what it looked like to the neighbors, nor do I care. In fact, whatever I did today should not be held against me. I was living under duress.
I decided to post a rather unflattering picture of him as revenge.