Every morning and night the human brushes her fangs and bubbles come out of her mouth. I think she’s about to turn feral, but it doesn’t happen. She laps up water and the bubbles disappear. That’s weird! Only fur balls come out of my mouth and sometimes drool, when I’m snoozing. The human wrinkles her face if I breathe on her, especially after I’ve eaten something fishy. She always gives me crunchy things to finish my breakfast and dinner.
The small water bowl where the human brushes her fangs.
Each day I wait for her to come out of the giant water bowel where water falls from the wall, so I can have a drink. The human steps onto a mat and shuffles over to the small water bowl where she brushes her fangs, but if I’m sitting on the mat, she can’t move it. I’m no lightweight!
My toes are small, but the ones on her mitts are ginormous. It’s easy for her to pick-up and carry things, but I can only carry a toy mouse or a wriggling bird in my mouth. (The bird thing doesn’t happen much now).
I’m curious as to why humans are mostly furless, maybe that’s why they cover their bodies and hind paws with cloth and things to keep warm and toasty. If I pounce and nip her soft, chewy toes or chunky legs, the human always make a loud noise. It is so much fun, but she doesn’t think so.
Humans do strange things and are funny looking, but are always entertaining.
When she’s been working late, the human is hilarious checking on me before she goes to bed. As you know, I have many comfy snoozing places, but a rug on the couch is my usual night-time spot. When the human comes in, she doesn’t turn on the light and crouches down, putting out her big mitt to feel if I’m on the couch. What catnip is she on? Her mitt is above my head, so I swipe it. Immediately, she yells and pulls back her arm.
‘You’re not very nice… Wondered if you were here.’
Part of our daily routine are games of chasey. Afterwards, I’ll be tuckered out and will lap up pools of fresh water from the giant water bowl after the human has washed. I don’t mind getting my paws wet. It tastes better that the water in my own bowl. When the human gets up the next day, she discovers muddy paw prints in the giant bowl, on the shiny floor and down the hall.
‘Smudge!’ She cleans them up when I’m outside doing my business and patrolling the backyard.
Scooting up the path, I dash inside, lap up some more water and retire to the lounge. My head is turned as I’m grooming my left shoulder. The human appears and is yelling again. I look up. ‘What?’ and continue to clean my fur. She shakes her head and leaves the room. Humans… Sometimes dumb things upset them.