What It Must Feel Like to Be…

“I'm in charge today. My cat said so.”

[Bumper sticker]

By the time I returned home this afternoon, I was bushed (and I am not referring to Dubya). Driving in this heat and humidity without air conditioning in my automobile takes something out of me—it takes a lot out of me. Also, the in and out of air conditioned buildings drains me: each time the hot, humid air hits me when I leave one, my energy seems to be sapped a bit more. So, after four hours in and out of air conditioned buildings: VA medical center, grocery (cat food) store, post office, and pharmacy, I was looking forward to stripping naked and reclining on my bed with an ice pack beneath by head and three fans blowing on me.

Of course I had not forgotten about Alex. I planned to feed and water and rub my finger under the chinny chin chin of the little furball who owns me as soon as I returned home. I’d last encountered him when I had left for the VA appointment. He had been outside cattin’ around and, when I opened the door to leave, he meandered in. The last I saw of him as I closed the door was Alex looking back at me over his right shoulder with his “Where do you think you’re going” look on his face.

When I finally returned, Alex was sitting almost in the same spot as he had been when I left. He didn’t even squander time meowing “hello”; he simply turned and ambled toward the kitchen and our dining table. (For those of you who remember when I created a private and separate dining table for Alex, let me update you: the cat has decided that there is more room to eat on my dining table, which has since become our dining table).

In the kitchen, Alex stopped beside our table and looked up at me. This is my cue to pull a packet of his favorite cat food out of the box and show it to him. He then walks toward me and I am to bend over and hold the packet close to his face. Alex rubs the left and right sides of his face against the food packet, and, if it meets his criteria for lunch (or dinner or breakfast or the snacks he has between those meals), he leaps up on a chair and then onto the dining table. (I have noticed that Alex can leap from the floor dir3ectly onto the table, but he only expends that much energy when a chair is not readily available).

Once Alex is on the table, I am to again show him the pack of Friskies. Then I tear it open and hold it so the cat can smell its contents. If, and only if, Alex next goes to his food bowl, I am to try to pour the contents of the packet into his bowl without getting the food onto the back of his head, because, as soon as the first of it hits the bowl, Alex has his head in the bowl, chowing down.

While Alex was eating, I empty his water dish, refilled it, and added two ice cubes from the freezer. Alex may be adverse to water in any form; however on hot days such as these he wants to consume only very cold water.

After completing the above ritual this afternoon, I was ready to strip naked and recline on my bed with an ice pack beneath by head and three fans blowing on me. Unfortunately, Alex had other ideas. Even before I was out of my pants, he was in the bedroom bedside me and clawing me for attention. As I have done so many time since Alex has been part of my life, I looked down at the cat and asked, “Now what do you want?”

Alex turned and walked toward the bedroom door. I think he expected me to follow me, which is exactly what I did. At the threshold to the bedroom, the cat stopped and looked up at me with his “you go first” look. So, I stepped over the cat and through the door. Then I had to decide (since Alex was going to give me no hint) whether to turn left toward the kitchen (the cat wants more food) or right toward the backdoor that opens to the deck (the cat wants to go outside).

Since the outside temperature was again above 90 F, I decided to turn left toward the kitchen. Alex did not follow me. I returned to the bedroom doorway, walked past the reclining Alex to the back door, and opened it. Alex remained in the doorway. Sooooo… I walked back to the doorway, looked down at the cat, and asked, “By the perfidious balls of Judas Iscariot, what do you want, damn it!!!!!” Alex looked at me and yawned.

Then he arose, meandered left down the hallway, through the kitchen, through the library, into the front entranceway and stood by the front door. I followed him, stood by the door, and asked, “So you want to go outside but you want to go out the front door rather than the back door?” The cat said and did nothing until I opened the door. Then he moved up two feet and sat in the doorway, front feet on the porch and his ass and tail in side the house. He stayed in that position for about five minutes before he moved enough to get his tail outside the door, which I quickly shut.

Finally! I was able to strip naked and recline on my bed with an ice pack beneath by head and three fans blowing on me! I remained that way for about two hours and, later, after I arose, I heard clawing at the back door. I opened it to find Alex on the deck. He meandered in, look up at me, and meowed “Feed me!” thus beginning the ritual all over again.

Living with Alex has taught me what it must feel like to be a man who is henpecked. Or, more realistically, it has taught me the origin and true meaning of the phrase pussy whipped.

Who could refuse such a cute pussy cat anything?