I Resign...

I've just sat done and I'm bone weary, literally, my bones hurt, I'm so tired, but you paw quietly at the closed glass door, and give a plaintive meow, somehow sounding as helpless as a newborn. You blink at me through the glass, pretending you don't know you could just walk around and through the living room to get to the kitchen.

You're not even supposed to be a house cat. When you were a kitten, your mother started hanging around the house, so we captured her and you and your siblings, getting you all spayed to release back to the neighborhood. Your brothers and mother ran off, but that winter, you came back and walked into our house like you owned the place. And never left.

I say, "I'm tired, can you wait a minute?" But you stare at me as if to say, "You signed the contract when you let me into the house years ago, and according to the Cat Distribution System, you are legally bound to open any door I am stuck behind. And look. I'm stuck. Meow."

With a heavy sigh, I get up and let you in. My joints creak, and my muscles ache with protest.

I go to sit back down, but you immediately rush between my legs, obviously guiding me, so I follow out of habit. Despite being a murderous miniature panther, you take tiny weaving steps right in front of me so I have to shuffle along behind you. Your tiny yet somehow impossibly loud steps thud like you weigh as much as an elephant. Each thump sending out a mocking message. Thud. Thump. Thud. "I. Own. You."

We've now reached your food bowl, where I must stand guard while you take exactly three bites of your kibble, your sharp teeth crunching each bite slowly and deliberately. I never told you to chew your food seven times before swallowing, but obviously someone did.

A pause, you turn and look and me and then back to the food bowl. Back to me. Slow blink. A tiny chirp, your signature half meow, "Meh." I can tell you're saying "It's empty, human. My food bowl is empty and I shall starve. What are you going to do about it?"

Your food bowl is more than half full, but I know better than to argue so I go and fill it to the brim. You resume munching for what feels like an eternity. You sit, licking your chops, contemplating whether or not to throw up, just so you can eat more. Nope, all good. Finally I am released from my guard duty.

I head back to the table, but as I sit, you make a mad dash for the living room, brushing by me, and I half stumble half fall into my chair.

That's it! I resign from being your eternal servant, always at the mercy of your fickle moods. I'm done with having to make sure the food bowl is at least 2/3 full, your cat bed is always fluffed, and your litter box always empty. And what thanks do I get? Constant demands for a warm lap, head scritches, and brushes. You beg for treats, you barge into the bathroom if I haven't latched the door all the way, you have the stinkiest poop. And of course, there's the joy of cleaning up your occasional hair ball.

I get up to tell you off, to give you a piece of my mind, but there you are, basking in a sunbeam from the front door. Belly (it's a trap) exposed, eyes half closed, liquid languid cat. A small bit of drool escapes your slightly open mouth, with tongue peaking out.

Awww... you always do make me smile. Something disturbs your perfect peace, and you lick a paw, then rub half-heartedly at your ear and eyebrow. Always going for that eyebrow, you've developed a bit of a bald patch there.

Now, your eyes are completely closed, the paw, forgotten, remains raised in the air, while your hind legs splay to either side in a way that is both crass and endearing. You start to snore.

My heart skips a beat as I stifle a laugh. I resign myself to many more years at your beck and call. I decide to take my rest on the living room recliner, where I can keep an eye on you. Later, when I surface from an unexpected nap, you're curled up on my lap, warming me better than a blanket, and purring. I gently stroke your fur, so black and so soft it feels like a gentle breeze. With each purr, each breath, you send me a message. Purr. Purr. Purr. "I. Love. You."

Ok, fine, I love you too. And yes, I'll re-sign that contract. Just show me the line.