|I am trying hard to look innocent|
Let me just say right up front: I am a privileged cat. I know I’m spoiled, and I don’t apologize for that because really, it’s a blessing. The day the Warden took me out of that flea-ridden shack, I didn’t have many hours left. I call that my lucky day – I won the cat lottery, because I came to live with someone who spoils me.
Now, sometimes that word ‘spoil’ is seen as a negative thing, especially when it pertains to children and even at times, dogs and cats. The Warden used to get upset when her mother (not an animal lover!) accused her of spoiling her cats. It stopped bothering her when she realized it was true, but wasn’t something she should be ashamed of. Spoiling your cat is a good thing. I speak from personal experience.
The Warden spoils me by letting me sleep pretty much anywhere I want, even if that’s on her chest and she can barely breathe because I’m such a strapping lad. When I leave my luxurious black fur on her light-colored couch, she doesn’t care. Ditto for whatever she’s wearing. She knows that walking around town covered in cat hair is a badge of honor. She spoils me by stopping whatever she’s doing when I demand my petting time. She believes, and rightly so, that no boring human task could ever be more important than spending quality time with her cat.
The Warden spoils me because when I am naughty, which is often – pretty much every day, all day long – she doesn’t get mad. If I put my paw on her dinner plate hoping to snag some chicken, she just laughs and pushes it away. The day I actually snagged something but unfortunately it was mustard and that promptly got deposited on the couch, she didn’t scold me. Furniture can be cleaned, she says. When I crawl all over her trying to distract her so I can do the grab-and-run with her food, she doesn’t mind that I get cat hair in her mouth or on her plate. It’s edible, right?
One day I swished my big floofy tail in her Caramel Macchiato, and then I flicked the caramel foam all over the carpet. She laughed especially hard that day. The Warden spoils me because she thinks of me as comic relief, a stress buster in kitty form. The Warden knows that being naughty is just my nature, and she loves me in spite of it. Or is that because of it?
When I jump up on the kitchen counter, she doesn’t freak out. Well, not unless there is company over…then she has to pretend she’s aghast and this is the first time her cat has ever done such an awful, unsanitary thing. Ha ha. Who does she think she is fooling? When I upchuck hairballs on the carpet or in her purse (yes, it really happened!), she doesn’t get upset. She just dutifully cleans it up, like any good cat-spoiler would.
The Warden spoils me by giving me the tastiest cat food on the planet. It’s called FELIDAE, and it’s kitty-licious. Of course, she doesn’t think this qualifies as spoiling; she says feeding a quality food is just part of being a responsible pet owner. Whatever! All I know is that it tastes great, keeps my fur shiny and my body healthy, and helps me be the most handsome mancat in the hood.
The Warden spoils me by letting me be just a cat, which means being waited on paw and foot, and not having a care in the world. She cleans my litter box every day, and when kitty litter gets stuck between my toe floof, she washes it off so I don’t have to. She keeps the house nice and warm for my comfort, and she places a padded blanket in front of the heater just for me.
Ah, such is the life of a spoiled cat. It’s really quite grand, and if a genie popped out of a bottle and gave me just one wish, I’d wish that every kitty in every city all over the world could be a spoiled cat like me!
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