Okay, Fuzz Face, move over and give me the keyboard. You don’t know squant about cat’s birthdays. I’ll write this post.
Unlike other cats, we Maine Coons don’t come to full growth and maturity until we are about four to five years old. Yesterday was my fourth birthday, and, because I am most assuredly unlike other cats, it was a day to be celebrated with great fanfare and jubilance. Unfortunately, my two humans, the big cats Fuzz Face and Blondie, didn’t do a very good job of organizing the truly memorable event that I so certainly deserve.
Oh, they tried, I guess. The gave me a couple of piddling presents and wrote “Happy Birthday, Mr. Monte!” on the blackboard. But it was all so trite and generic. I mean, where were the TV cameras, press interviews, and adoring fans? They invited no one.
In their minds, the main event was a meager bowl of melted ice cream. Look at the featured picture. Look at that tiny bowl that was virtually empty when they gave it to me. Now, look at my eyes. Do I look happy? No way! The whole affair was a big letdown. I was ready to rip something to shreds.
Now, take a look at Blondie and the bowl of ice cream she had. She had even gone so far as to pour tons of chocolate syrup all over it.
Although it was way beneath my dignity, I politely put my paw on her wrist and quietly pointed out that I was the guest of honor and perhaps some of that ice cream should be given to me. Her simple response was a wretched display of rudeness. She said, “You’ll have to wait. Perhaps there will be some tiny bit left after I finish.”
Of course, old Fuzz Face wasn’t even that courteous. He scarfed down his ice cream with great haste and then made ghastly and guttural people sounds of satisfaction. I think I even heard him belch.
In her own good time, Blondie finally granted me permission (she’ll pay for that) to lick the meager remnants of what could have been a most wonderful feline-ice cream encounter. Now, however, it was just a matter of the cat gets the scraps.
As unsettling as that experience was, there were many other indignities I had to suffer. On a Maine Coon’s fourth birthday, reception of wonderful, expensive, lavish, and glorious presents should be the norm. No, not for me! Fuzz Face and Blondie thought they could buy me off with a two-ounce burlap bag of catnip with a chintzy rattle inside. The bag said “50 lbs” on it – what a huge lie and deception.
So, I played their little game, knowing that someday, when they least expect it, I will strike with vengeance. I rolled on the floor with the catnip bag and pretended to be somewhat happy. That’s when old Fuzz Face came over and started to sniff the bag and played with it just as I had done. What’s with this guy? I won’t elaborate, but I’ve known for some time that he is a “secret sniffer” of catnip – how unbecoming for a human.
What should have been a wonderful and memorable birthday for me is now history. I had a little ice cream and sniffed a little catnip. Perhaps I enjoyed some of the attention I received, but now that you’ve learned what I had to endure, you can certainly understand that the charge that I am spoiled just doesn’t hold water.
But, I guess this comes with the territory. I mean, when you have two people to train, it’s tough work. Yep, herding people is a tough life, but that’s what I do – even on my birthday.