I’ve been trying to tell how bored I am every night when the old woman shuts me in the den.
The carpet under the door is my nightly target. I’ve managed to strip out three lines of weaving. The old woman tells everyone she’ll be having someone in the install a metal strip. So I’m shredding carpet while I can.
But really I want to run and jump and play zoomies at night. I want to play on the balcony. I want my true freedom. But the old woman tricks me every night. She tosses a handful of kibble in my kibble bowl and I can’t resist them, you know?
Then she says, “Nighty-night.”
And she walks away.
I gobble up the kibbles and then start miaowing most pitifully. She doesn’t listen. Or she pretends her ears are made of steel … well, she says she steels herself not to hear me.
So far she hasn’t weakened and let me out.
Me, asleep on the back of the couch. I was furious with old woman when she took away my towel. I hissed and showed my teeth.
She was not impressed, she said. And she said sh’d be washing it.
Pardon me, I’m sure.
Rita de Heer 