Our cat, Gracie, loves me. She loves me with her whole heart. If my WordPress account allowed, I’d post a picture of her, and you’d be able to see the love light shining in her eyes. Or the mischief. It’s hard to tell.
She’s beautiful—A muted calico with a white strip from the top of her head to the tip of her cute little nose. Sometimes I catch her admiring herself in the mirror.
And she’s so smart. She can open the cabinet in which her treats are stored, and without fail, brings us a bag of treats every night after the lights are out. It’s the equivalent of a toddler’s “just one more drink, Mommy” or “read me one more story.”
If I go to bed before Studly Doright does, Gracie will pester him until he joins me. But if I stay up a little later, she curls up in my lap until I indicate that I’m ready for bed. Like I say, she loves me.
I’m sitting here watching her attack her scratching post, shredding the fibers with a vengeance. The post has seen better days, but it’s her favorite toy. Even so, I’ve begun to think of it as a piece of modern sculpture. Maybe we could sell it for a small fortune and Gracie could create a new one. Maybe she could reimburse us for all those treats. Maybe I need to get some sleep tonight. I’m rambling.
Cat Gracie discovered a luckless lizard in the house yesterday and quickly let the poor critter know who was boss.
My attempts at rescuing the little guy were futile. I’d pick him up and Gracie would snatch the other end. I’d let go to prevent a tug of war, not wanting or needing to witness the decapitation of a reptile in my den.
But the lizard had a game plan:
Gracie scraped the lizard off her face and backed away with a look of disbelief, allowing me to scoop the lizard up and take it outside where it played dead for quite some time. Well, to be honest, it might not have been playing, but it’s no longer in the spot where I left it. Whether it left of its own volition and under its own power is a mystery. I’m going to choose to believe it went on to live a productive life.
She wakes Studly Doright up at five every morning and makes him carry her to the kitchen for a treat.
After he leaves for work, she snuggles with me and insists I get up at six. While I shower, Gracie watches me from her ringside seat on the side of bathtub. She presides over my morning routine, ensuring that I take my vitamins, and calcium, and allergy meds, and well, you get the idea.
The day proceeds with Gracie allotting time for feeding, naps, and play when she’s not actively supervising my work. In the evening she lets us know it’s time to stretch out on one of the chairs on the screened-in porch by pawing at the patio door.
Bedtime routine with Gracie is reminiscent of my days of tucking in a toddler. She gets a bowl of her favorite wet food, a bit of playtime, then we snuggle into our bed. But Gracie isn’t ready to sleep.
She’ll jump off the bed in dramatic fashion and rush down the hallway to the kitchen. Soon she’ll come back toting a bag of treats in her mouth. If she can’t get to the cat treats, she’ll bring a bag of people food—nuts, trail mix—whatever comes closest to resembling her treats, so the gist of her message is clear—one last snack, please.
Once she gets what she wants Gracie disappears into one of the guest bedrooms for the night only reappearing in our room when it’s time to wake Studly up for work. And the routine begins again,
I wish Gracie had been around during the years I taught. I could’ve used a good scheduler.