Monday, July 25, 2005

Have My Instincts Failed Me?

All day yesterday I suspected the humans were up to no good. At the top of the list of making me suspicious was that they slept in late. I awakened Softie by walking all over her, but she didn't get up! Instead, she picked up a book and began reading. So I decided to wake up the British One by walking all over him, but it didn't work.

Whenever I am not fed my delicious diced chicken at the appointed time each morning, it usually means I am in for a dreadful time at the evil vet. I decided to try to go back to sleep, or at least to feign sleep. I curled up into a furry little ball at the foot of the bed and closed my eyes--although I made sure my ears were up and very alert.

Eventually Softie got out of bed and went downstairs, but I was afraid to follow her for fear of the dreaded Pet Taxi. So I stayed in bed with the British One. Momentarily, however, he too got out of bed. He switched on the glowing box in the office and commenced pecking away at the keyboard. I continued to feign sleep.

I heard Softie calling to me, and I heard the beeping box in the kitchen, but still I worried that it was a ruse to get me downstairs, where I was sure to be stuffed into the Pet Taxi and whisked away to the evil vet.

Presently Softie also called to the British One, who went downstairs. I could hear them having a nice breakfast by the clink of cutlery on dishes, but I wasn't going to be lulled into a false sense of security, only to be stuffed inside the Pet Taxi. I stayed put.

It was mid-morning by the time Softie came upstairs and asked if I was hungry. Of course I was--but I still suspected they were up to no good, and I told her as much from my warm duvet. She scooped me up and carried me downstairs, and so sure was I of the Pet Taxi that I immediately began scanning the floors while still in her arms. Oddly, I didn't see it.

She placed me in the kitchen, where a heaping helping of delicious diced chicken awaited. I thought this was very strange, as normally they do not feed me before I visit the evil vet, because I tend to be very sick inside the metal monster if I have eaten. I tentatively began to eat, but kept stopping to watch Softie and the British One because I was SURE one of them would appear with the dreaded Pet Taxi at any moment. But soon the British One was dressed in his painting clothes and had disappeared upstairs to paint a bedroom, and Softie had put on a floppy hat and her Chuck Taylor's and gone outside to fire up the grass-eating noisemaker.

I stayed alert all day, in between naps on the bed, sofa and Poang chair. Nothing bad ever happened and I was not taken away to the evil vet.

Have my instincts failed me?

No comments: