Our cat is 16 years old today. Well, we don’t know if it’s April 1, exactly. What we do know is that, in 1992, when talks about marriage became serious, my then-boyfriend presented me with a black kitten for my 25th birthday in late July. Said feline was guessed to be around 4 months old, although the Cat Lady from whom he came couldn’t say for sure.
At my office mate’s suggestion, we named him Chuckie, after the black Chuck Taylor sneaks that the BF wore all the time. Shortly thereafter, we became engaged and moved in together, causing the first of five moving traumas for the Chuckster. Although, if you ask him, nothing was as traumatic — or troubling — as the day Mac came to live here. Not even the arrival of three baby boys rocked his world as much as the coming of The Dog. Although Chuckie tolerates Mac’s presence and allows him to coexist in his house, it’s apparent that he still holds a grudge about the whole thing.
Some families send out an annual newsletter in December, in time for the holidays. Ours is produced on a somewhat looser schedule (as in, whenever we get around to it), and is unique because we allow guest writers. In 2006, we set the kitty up at the computer, explained that the “mouse” was not something to chase, maim or kill, and allowed him complete artistic freedom. Here’s what he came up with:
What, Me, Bitter? Of COURSE I’m Not Bitter!
by Chuckie the Cat
NATURALLY, you all want to talk about the dog. “Sit Mac, roll over, Mac, good boy, Mac.” Stupid mutt.
So one day last June, I’m minding my business, you know, licking myself, and this huge dog shows up. Dumb as an onion. “Time to be assertive,” I think to myself.
Now personally, and maybe it’s just me, but I really like the smell of cat urine. It’s an acquired taste, I’ll grant you that. It smells so strongly of ammonia, but I ask , what are most cleaning solutions made out of? Let me tell you, that hockey gear stunk like sweat; THAT’S nasty, if you ask me.
But, nooooo! They go all postal and toss me out of the house for six months. Just for that…and well…OK, those other times when I “asserted myself” near the front door. And on the Christmas tree.
I only agreed to let them bring me back in, because it was getting cold outside.
So, of course not. I’m not bitter, not at all.
Happy Birthday, Chuckie!