A Word from the Cat

Huck's Log 12/25/10

I do not like this new thing.


I liked how it used to be.

I would sometimes have to meow for food in the morning, and sometimes they were slow to respond, but in general I was completely doted upon. They would hold me, and pet me, and meow and purr right back at me. When I'd meow at the door they'd let me in or out, depending on which side of the door I was on. Outside, I could go explore, chase moths, kill mice, stalk the neighbor lady who is scared of me... Inside, I could climb up on Mom's huge round belly and fall half-asleep there, purring in her ear.

Some of that stuff still happens, I guess. But ever since this new little thing arrived, it doesn't feel the same.


I've taken to napping in the bottom of the closet.

The new thing sleeps in their bed, where I used to.

Mom doesn't have a belly for me to lie on anymore, and what lap she does have is usually occupied by the new thing.


They try to call me over, and pet and cuddle me, but I am showing them that they can't have their cake and eat it too. When they click and call me over, I usually just look at them disdainfully and continue walking. Only once in awhile do I go over, and then I only allow just the shortest of caresses.

This morning, I jumped up on the bed on one side of Mom as she was typing on the computer. The new thing was on her other side. It was sleeping, I guess. From what I can tell, it only has two states of being: asleep and noisy. It's almost as big as I am, but doesn't move in any logical way. It makes sounds I don't understand. And it only has fur on the top of its head. It has no teeth or claws. It would make a poor hunter, but I'm still not going to go near it. It must be very strong in some secret way, to have this strange power over my parents.


I'm going to go eat the roof off the gingerbread house.