Hi! Mr. Monte here.
¡Basta! That’s enough – no more!
Even as I begin to take paw to keyboard, I can see that Serendipity Farmhouse is on the verge of falling apart. Am I the only one who can see it? Is everyone else here blind?
Consider: There hasn’t been a post from this blog for nearly two weeks.
Consider: Not one good recipe from Julia has been tested in the SFH Test Kitchen in ages.
Consider: The lawn is shaggy, overgrown, and in great need of trimming.
Consider: The pantry is growing low on food essentials.
What’s going on with my big cats?? Have they lost any sense of priorities??
It all began two weeks ago when Ol’ Fuzz Face pulled out his big green suitcase and started packing. He was constantly checking his reservations and fretting over what clothes to take to windy, cold, and snowy Idaho. During all of this, he took short cuts with my grooming, shortened our play times, and failed to show me the attention that is my due.
Meanwhile, Blondie puttered around aimlessly. Occasionally, she would ask Fuzzy if he needed a shirt ironed or needed some more fattening snacks to pack in his brief case. She was (I am understating), she was less observant of and responsive to my needs than she is required to be. On a scale of 1-10, her interest in my interests had dropped to an all-time low of “2”.
When the old man finally got into his car and headed to the airport, Blondie wandered about SFH aimlessly. She grabbed a book and read for 5-10 minutes. Then she was up bouncing about, looking for something to do. – – – She found it alright, there she was on-line purchasing this-and-that, that-and-this, this-and-this, and that-and-that from Amazon. Fuzzy’s pungent foot odor had barely vacated the room and Blondie had already charged several hundred buckaroos to the SFH credit card. ///Blondie takes issue with my statements – I report, you decide!///
Oh, she wasn’t totally forgetful of her duties. After all, I’ve trained her well in the preparation and serving of my meals. But, it was a lack luster presentation, just barely meeting the lowest level of reasonable expectations. – – The dear, sweet lady wasn’t really with it.
On Tuesday, good friend Nancy visited. She’s a fairly consistent and convivial guest. She’s knows how to show me proper respect and courtesy upon arrival. In that regard, she could teach Blondie a few things.
One morning was the worst in my recent recollection. Blondie made the nearly disastrous decision to perform my required daily grooming. She has little or no training in that most important of rituals. It almost cost her her life, or at least a large quantity of hemoglobin. – – To her credit, Blondie is a gentle and loving human. That was what almost cost her dearly.
She approached me with the stainless steel grooming comb. She uttered sweet, loving, and tender words. She smiled timidly and muttered that this would be an excellent experience. – – What’s the matter with her? Doesn’t she realize I am a full-grown, mature, male, Maine Coon cat with six long, sharp claws on each of my four paws. I also have big teeth. I don’t necessarily respond well to sweet, loving, and tender words.
She approached. I held my ground. She continued to approach. I responded with hissing and a low, unmistakably ominous growl. She still continued to approach and extend the comb. My paw quickly flew in her direction, flashing gleaming white claws. You could hear the swish as the claws slashed through the air. – – Blondie got the message.
For all reading this, Ol’ Fuzz Face, for all his weaknesses and lunacies, is the only human whom I allow to groom me. It may be that he’s not real smart, but he does not fear my grooming time temper tantrums. Whatever the case might be, the pictures you’ve seen of me with my shiny mackerel pattern coat are a reflection of his stupid, ill-informed fearlessness.
And so it was while Fuzz Face was gone. I loved Blondie with purrs and leg rubs while she was feeding me and gave me treats. But, she never ever approached me again with that stainless steel grooming comb.
Oh, by the way, Fuzz Face is good for one other thing – hunting. He is the prey – I am the fierce predator. It’s our game and he suffers greatly if he ever underestimates my abilities. This last week, I found out that Blondie is rather fearful of being the hunted one. – – She knows I don’t appreciate being sprayed with the water bottle. Maybe that’s why she resorted to sleeping with the water bottle all week.
Well, that’s my story. Fuzzy is now home again and he and Blondie (at my urging) are doing their best to get SFH back in running order. It may take a while.
If Fuzzy really loves his dear, sweet, lovable spouse, I counsel him strongly not to take any more business trips. It takes the three of us to run SFH. That’s the way it is and that’s the way it’s meant to be.