Darn Cat I sit on top of the tall chest of drawers in the early morning hours just before the sun rises. From this high vantagepoint I can look down on Frannie's bed as she sleeps. She's on her belly, sprawled out, her face buried in the pillow. When she wakes, she will frighten me because there will be deep lines across her cheeks that make her look very scary. At her age, she should know better than to sleep on her face. It will take three hours for the lines to disappear. I sit quietly, watching her move and groan in a fitful light sleep. She knows daylight is coming and she snuggles deeper beneath the comforter. Just before the sun rises, she will again fall into a very sound sleep, dreaming sweet dreams. That's when I leap from the top of the furniture and land heavily on her back. "Darn cat," she yells. "Are you crazy? The sun is barely up and you have scared me to death." I want to tell her that she scares me to death the way she looks in the morning but, instead, I nuzzle her neck as she rolls over and I press my cold wet nose against her cheek. After all, she's the one who feeds me, so I'd better play my cards right. "Yuck," says Frannie, but she is smiling. I sit on the edge of her fancy cedar-lined trunk and watch as she swings her legs out from under the covers. I nip at her toes and she yells again, still smiling. She runs to the bathroom to wash her face, fearful my kisses will contaminate her. Realizing how cold it is, she goes into the living room and turns up the thermostat. Then she jumps back under the covers and turns on the radio to hear the news and weather. Fifteen minutes later, after much nudging from me, she is finally on her feet, tottering sleepily to the front door to retrieve the newspaper. She moves along to the kitchen and fills up my feeding dish with more of that crunchy dry stuff. I'd rather have a Fancy Feast gourmet meal, but that will come later. Frannie stoops down and rubs my belly and I stretch out my full length on the kitchen floor. I sit at her side as she eats breakfast, hoping she will drop some crumbs, but she is a careful eater. Nothing falls down to my level. As she goes about her morning rituals, I dash from room to room like a streak of lightning, sliding across the polished floor, upending anything in my way. This is my exercise routine for the day. I check the view from the living room window, careful not to knock over any of her precious knick-knacks as I leap across the coffee table to the window sill behind the sofa. The sky is blue, but that white stuff is all over the ground and icicles are hanging from the eaves. Birds are at the feeder across the way. They are acting like silly fools, darting around in the cold air and pecking at birdseed. It must be a rough life. They should have known better and headed south for the winter. The view from the sliding door in the kitchen is different. Squirrels are bouncing around, climbing trees and sliding on ice. This morning I saw a very sad sight. There was a stray pussycat outside, limping on three legs. One of his legs appears to be hurt and he looked so cold and sad. I guess I am very lucky. I felt guilty watching him from my warm spot in the kitchen with a full dish of food at my side. I hope Frannie will notice the poor kitty and put some food out for him. Frannie gets out of the shower, fixes her hair and puts on makeup. She is starting to look human. Then back into the bedroom to fix the bed. This is always fun. I sit in the middle of the bed and make it hard for her to pull up the sheet and comforter. She throws a pillow at me. "Darn cat," she says again. Are those the only words she knows? She told me that my name is TomCat, but all she ever calls me is DarnCat. She makes up the bed, leaving me hidden under the comforter. We start to play a game of hide and seek, peek-a-boo. Frannie is a lot of fun. She checks her e-mail. I love when she sits at the computer and prints something. I like to watch the paper come out of the printer and I swat at it with my paw. I stand in front of the screen and she pushes me aside, but I will not budge. Again, Frannie yells, "Darn cat." The next thing she does is clean my litterbox, take out the vacuum cleaner, and dust. She grimaces as she sees all the white hairs I have shed. She makes a mighty attempt to get rid of all of them. Well, she tries. She should know better than to wear a black sweater when she owns a white cat. She finally goes out and I settle down with my toys. Frannie bought me a bag full of 24 furry toy mice. A dozen are scattered all over the house. She does not like when I put one on her bed. And worse, she hates when I drop one into my water dish. "Darn cat," she says once more. "I don't like having to rescue your drowned mousies. You have to keep them out of your water bowl." Ah, well. I do my best to cooperate, but accidents happen. I play for a while and then take a long nap in a sunny window. Frannie comes home in the late afternoon. God only knows where she's been. I wonder if she bought a new toy for me. She heads for the sofa, turns on the TV and settles down in a reclining position. I hop on her belly and snuggle as she scratches my ears and whispers sweet words to me. She watches the news and then prepares dinner. If she doesn't have a hot date, Frannie goes to bed early and watches TV in the bedroom. She likes all that dramatic stuff with corpses, detectives and blood samples. Yuck, that is gory entertainment. I stay in the living room and play with my mice. But she has the sound turned up loud and it drives me crazy. Gosh, she is getting deaf in her old age. When she finally turns off the TV and lights, I settle at the foot of her bed. She thinks I'm down for the night, but Frannie doesn't know I live a very exciting life while she is asleep. Next morning, when she finds the picture frames I overturned, the vertical blinds askew, and another toy mouse in my water bowl, she starts yelling, "Darn cat." And so another day begins. ~ © Frannie (Frannie516@aol.com) ~ Photograph by Frannie (Frannie516@aol.com) March 2004 BACK This is a LINKWARE webpage. You're welcome to use it providing you keep it intact and don't mix it with other graphics. You may, however, use a different title and different text. Be sure and include my Marilyn's graphics' button and a link back. http://www.geocities/writersearlyspring2004/ All poems and short stories on this website have a copyright. If you wish to use one or more on your website, contact the author for permission. If you enjoyed this page, check these out: Pussycat Springtime Original Humor Yesterdays Click the image and visit my new website. 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