A. Marie Silver

A. Marie Silver

Diary of a Cranky Cat – I Learned a New Language

Dear Diary,

Today I learned a new language.  I feel it’s tragic and unfortunate that I had to learn this new language but…alas….my life is tragic and unfortunate.

This morning, after I was unable to wake Momma, I came down stairs.  I threw myself on the floor and moaned, “Woe as me!  Woe as me!”

Little Missy turned herself around on the kitty condo so that she was facing me.  She yawned, unaffected by my misery and torment.  “What are you complaining about now?”

“Momma won’t wake up to feed me.  My tummy is empty. My bowl is empty.  I feel faint.”  I threw my paw against my forehead and closed my eyes.  “The end is near.  I can see the light.”

“I can see the light too,” Little Missy responded.  “It’s called sun light. It happens a lot in Georgia.”

Well isn’t she hilarious.  “Little Missy; if you’re not going to help than please, let me die in peace.”

Little Missy jumped off the kitty condo and walked right past me, leaving me to wither alone.  I don’t really like Little Missy all that much but I didn’t want to starve to death by myself.  It would have been awfully considerate of her to at least wait until I died to leave.

The tunnel of light grew shorter.  I could feel myself going into it.  But then, out of nowhere, I heard something.  Footsteps from up above.  “Are you there, God?  It’s me.  Gwennie! I’m almost ready to go.  Just let me get my puff balls.”  God didn’t respond. I felt under the circumstances that was rude.  The least he could do is greet his newcomers.  I hope there’s some kind of door man because I have a lot of puff balls and I’m going to need help getting them up to Heaven.

The rumbling upstairs grew louder and the footsteps traveled downstairs.  It sounded like Momma but I knew it couldn’t be.  Momma couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed to feed me.  The footsteps went straight into the kitchen.  God must be hungry or something because I also heard – in my extreme delusional, death bed condition, the sounds of cupboard doors opening and closing and the faucet running.

Jingling bells came up from behind me.  “Momma’s coming.”  It was Little Missy.  She came back to keep me company while I died.

“Momma’s not coming.  She’s just going to let me starve to death.”  I felt a sharp slap against my cheek.  “Hey!” I opened my eyes.  “Why did you hit me? Can’t you see I’m dying here?”

“You’re not dying!  You’re a big baby!  Momma is downstairs and she’ll be here in a minute.”

I rolled over. “You got Momma out of bed?  How?”

“Easy. I jumped up on the bed, walked straight up to Momma, leaned into her ear and yelled, ‘Momma!  Bottle!’  She jumped out of bed and put her slippers on.  We went and got the Little Thing and look!”  Little Missy pointed behind me.  I turned and found Momma stumbling in a decaffeinated daze toward the kibbles container.  “There she is,” Little Missy continued.  “And, there’s our breakfast.”

“And all you had to do was say, ‘bottle’?”

“Yep.  You gotta speak Little Thing to Momma now.  It’s the only language she understands.”

Well how about that?  Momma speaks Little Thing and now I do too.  After Momma finished filling up our dish, I shoved Little Missy out of the way and chowed down.  God missed his chance to meet me today.  That’s what he gets for being late to my imminent funeral.

This Gwennie, signing off!

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A. Marie Smith

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