Cleo the Cat: “Daddy.”
Daddy continues working on a story, in the zone.
Cleo: “Daddy.”
Daddy is trying to decide which character should get the zinger line he thought of in the shower this morning. This is a critical plot point.
Cleo leaps into the ample lap of the man seated at the cluttered desk. “DADDY!”
Daddy looks down. “What? You have an entire house to dominate. Why me?”
Cleo: “I have an issue.”
Daddy: “You always have issues. What is it this time? Were you staring out the window and a leaf did not fall in a way that pleased you?”
Cleo: “Why must you mock me?”
Daddy: “I’m not mocking. I’m busy. I’m trying to figure out if I can work in yet another Ellen DeGeneres cameo before the people who ready Daddy’s blog get sick of it and storm Bonnywood with torches.”
Cleo: “I’m not interested in that mess. I’m much more concerned about THIS.” She reaches into her Kenneth Cole messenger bag (how the hell did she get one of those?) and whips out a photo, slapping it on the laptop keyboard. (On the screen of said laptop, Ellen’s next line of dialogue suddenly becomes “aslnaoifnb!#%”.)
Daddy, taking a deep breath and punching at the backspace key, something he often finds himself doing when kitties breach the official Work Perimeter: “What am I looking at?”
Cleo, sighing: “It’s clearly my food bowl.”
Daddy: “I see that. I see it every day. What’s special about it right now that has you breaking protocol when Daddy is working?”
Cleo, sighing more dramatically, because her previous thespian effort was apparently not good enough: “It’s empty!”
Daddy, also sighing, because two can play at this pointless and never-ending game: “It’s not empty. There’s plenty of food in that thing.”
Cleo, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves because dealing with humans is so exasperating: “I beg to differ. The paltry offering in my sacred dining vessel is a sacrilege and an affront to my soul.”
Daddy: “It sounds like somebody needs to stop watching Downton Abbey reruns.”
Cleo: “No, it sounds like somebody needs to watch this.” She snatches a designer laser pointer from her designer messenger bag, clicks it on, and focuses the red beam on a minute section of the food-bowl photo, fighting off her instinctive need to attack said red spot. “Right there, in quadrant 7B-3 of my sacred food vessel, there is a shocking gap amongst the kibble. You can see the bottom of the bowl! This is an unforgivable outrage.”
Daddy, quickly hitting “save” on his document, lest Cleo’s delusions lead to another extemporaneous adjustment of Ellen’s imagined musings: “I see. So, if I take one little pebble of your food and plug up that tiny smidge of desecration, you’ll be satisfied?”
Cleo: “I don’t know that we can go so far as satisfaction, but yes, I will be briefly un-outraged.”
Daddy: “Fine. But first, you need to answer three questions.”
Cleo: “That shouldn’t be a problem. After all, I was worshipped by the ancient Egyptians as an omniscient goddess.”
Daddy: “You might be a little off with that history. Still, first question, how did you take and print out this photo?”
Cleo: “Easy. I know all the passwords to your phone and your wi-fi and your printer. What the hell did you think I was doing all those other times when I jumped in your lap when you were working? It wasn’t affection. It was espionage.”
Daddy: “Okay, got it. Second, do you not remember that we rescued you off the streets? You are a very lucky kitty to have a nice home and a mostly-full food vessel. Lots of kitties don’t have that.”
Cleo, not responding immediately as she raises a paw and fiddles with her Bluetooth earpiece, apparently receiving intel from a phone that I didn’t realize she had: “Uh huh. Uh huh. Yep. Got it.” She looks at me. “My lawyer has advised me that I shouldn’t answer that question.”
Daddy: “Which means I win that round and your lawyer can shove it. Third, are you taking advantage of the fact that me and Other Daddy are trapped in this house during the lock-down and you think you can get away with more than you normally do, trying to grab at things you shouldn’t?”
Cleo: “Maybe.”
Daddy: “Thought so. I win that round as well. Two to one, my favor. Now, go away and let me try to repair my relationship with Ellen after you made her spout off some inappropriate dialogue.”
Cleo: “But my lawyer says-”
Daddy: “Just who is your lawyer?”
Cleo: “Um, Rudy Giuliani.”
Daddy: “Figures. That horrid man is always defending the pussy grabbers.”
Cleo: “But-”
Daddy: “Go!”
Cleo slips away, already plotting her next bit of nefariousness.
Ellen, adjusting her own Bluetooth earpiece: “I’m sorry I overheard all of that. It sounds like you’re in a bit of a domestic quandary.”
Daddy: “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m used to it. So, back to what we were discussing. How do you feel about the dialogue I’ve composed for you in the story I was writing before Cleopatra embargoed the Nile?”
Ellen: “I think it’s fine. Snarky and sweet. But I really think I should be wearing a feather boa during my big speech at the Druid ceremony.”
Daddy: “That seems plausible. After all, the Corona Virus has changed the way we live. But now, more than ever, we need whimsy, something to lighten the dark. And if feather boas can do that, I say we all should put one on and dance like everybody’s watching.”
Categories: Humor
Bonnywood Manor 
Last line = perfect.
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Thanks, Barb. In the end, spontaneous whimsy always wins the day…
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What is with these cats?? Sophie Anne stayed out until 11:30pm the other night, didnt even come when I shook the treat jar😱 and the she just sits on my chest, sneezes in my face and demands to be petted.
Her mother & sibling left her in an electric box outside an apartment complex. They left her, we saved her and I get Kat Kooties in the face?!
And dont get me started on Diesel, who was found in an engine compartment AFTER a 10 mile ride…
I need more Ellen! More feather boas, possibly some sequins, and DEFINITELY dancing!! Lots of dancing💃🏼💌
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I think it’s clear by now that if we ever get together and coordinate our shenanigans, the rest of the world better look out…
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Great post 😁
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Thank you!
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Cleo is on speaking terms with Broody Rudy? Shouldn’t he be in a home somewhere? … Oh silly me, I know, he’s diligently giving of his time on a coronavirus ward. 😉
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I have counseled Cleo on making wise social media choices but, of course, she never listens. As for Broody Rudy, it’s all about the talk and not about the doing…
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I vote for lots of whimsy.
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Every. Day. And then we all gather in the kitchen and whip up something extraordinary…
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Oh Brian, Brian… the idea that you believe you are two up in an argument with a feline.So sweetly deluded. Our beloved manicat’s latest pre-emptive response was to wait beneath the printer and attack/shred/spindle/mutilate my latest masterpiss as it cascaded towards its fate. A deserved fate but still, criticism hurts. She merely sits on your lap, accidentally editing. With our ginger tom a’nestling as I sit uneasily I’m fearing for my precious lap/anatomy.
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Trust, there have been plenty of anatomical endangerments in this domicile. We’ve had our fair share of sociopathic felines who consider who embrace the “scorched earth” mantra. But in order to sleep at night with some degree of ill-perceived security, I try to pretend that I have some degree of control in the situation…
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First off: same. And I don’t even have cats.
Second: if it makes you feel any better, I’ve never been solicited for a torch mob. Not here anyway.
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Is it sad that I’m more disappointed in my inability to incite at angry mob than I am about my inability to get the attention of a legitimate book publisher? Sigh…
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At least Cleo isn’t suicidal like most of her feline brethren during this forced cohabitation with their humans. Fill her sacred dining vessel and be glad she’s not lighting the torch that sets Bonnywood aflame.
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Oh, I’m not so sure Cleo won’t try to set the night on fire. I just noticed that the fireplace matches are not in their usual, neglected position on the mantel. Hmm….
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HAAHAHA. I have a match and I know how to use! Maybe tomorrow . . .
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[Brian gulps and sits nervously at his front window, peering into the night and waiting…]
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hilarious! and i so get this, the cats of the world really have it under control, we are the ones who are scrambling.
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Thanks, Beth. Sometimes I fear that they are the dominant species and we humans are mere laboratory experiments… 😉
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if they had thumbs they’d be writing about all of our foibles.
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Brilliant!
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Merci!
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A pleasure 🙏
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I was reading and snorkling (chortling + snerking) and plotting a comment wherein the superiority of the canine was hoisted aloft (Ziggy thinks he’s a cat apparently. Because he does the same as Cleo, but I’d SWEAR he was a dog? 😮 ) when I stumbled over ” “Figures. That horrid man is always defending the pussy grabbers.” and I fell off my chair in the throes of laughter so intense it hurt a little. The dogs are licking my face (a go to. I think it’s love. They are probably just after the last vestiges of sausage and/or bacon flavoring on my lip. We all have our delusions) BWAHAHAHHAHAHAH. Now I’ll laugh all day and I don’t even know figs about that Guilani person. (sp?) Didn’t he used to rule New York or something? I gotta start paying better attention. On second thought, nah. Not with that kind of ‘news’. *Snerkle* 😆
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This is going to sound odd, and it will probably not bode well for me in a future court case, but it makes my day when I can send you tumbling to the floor.
[Brian pauses for authoritative knock on the door, followed by incarceration. It doesn’t immediately happen. For now.]
I almost excised the “grabber” line, fearing it was a bridge too far, but then I went back and fiddled a bit with the preceding paragraphs to make it more palatable. If a line is going to work, you have to build the foundation.
As for Rudy, well, he was the mayor of New York City during 9/11. And he did a good job, at that time. But since then, he’s turned into an unapologetic lapdog for Trump, and that negates everything he did before…
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Dance Brian! Change those passwords before Cleo goes shopping!
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I’m dancing and changing!
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You certainly know exactly how cats talk! Mine was exactly the same about her food bowl too—little diva!
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Little divas, indeed. I’ve had at least one cat (often-times more) in my Fortress of Solitude for decades, non-stop, and after a while you learn the pathology and the methodology… 😉
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I don’t know what it is about these “kidden” (as my daughter called them) who think that if their food bowl is not overflowing…they have nothing to eat!
Kind of reminds me of a time long past…if there wasn’t any sharp cheddar cheese in the fridge…we were out of food. 🥴
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Reminds me, as well. As wee bairns, my siblings and I would review the inventory of the fridge, and if we didn’t see the exact thing we wanted, well, it was obvious that we were going to starve to death, even if there were plenty of other things to eat…
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LOL. When I was drinking a gallon of milk every day, if I got down to three gallons in my refrigerator, I was off to buy four more. There was nothing in it but eight gallons of milk. 🥛The cashiers always had the same tired joke. “Wouldn’t it be cheaper to just buy a cow?”
Yep…but I’d have to feed the damn thing and then milk it! 🐄
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I am backing Cleo on this. Fill the freak’n dish to overflowing. The only way to get any peace is a cat too fat to waddle.
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To be fair, Cleo is a very well-stuffed feline. Mostly because we keep filling in those tiny spaces in her food bowl just to achieve some level of peace in the Manor…
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Cleo seems like quite the diva 😀 Merlin jumps on my lap whenever I’m typing at my computer or watching Netflix. If I’m not paying him attention, he wants attention. If I want a cuddle, he runs the other way. Cats!
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Over the years, I have tried and consistently failed to understand exactly what the expected next step might be in satisfying the fur babies. I really don’t think they’re happy unless we’re off balance…
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Who’s been complaining about Ellen? We want our Ellen! And please make sure her feather boa is quality, okay? Not one of those cheapies from Boas R Us. She needs a big one with non-shedding capabilities.
Also, you didn’t ask, but I read recently that the reason cats insist you refill a nonempty bowl has to do with something called “whisker fatigue.” If their food dish is small, their whiskers bend back as they eat. So that’s why they often pull out morsels and eat from the floor.
FEED THE CAT BRIAN! … (Sorry, Cleo texted me last night and forced me to write that.)
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I really need to take another look at Cleo’s data usage on her phone. (We have the “Friends and Furry Family” Plan.) I think it might be time to establish some boundaries. (Oh, who am I kidding? She just has to flop on her back and proffer her limited-access belly for rubbing, and I’m done in.)
I’ve actually heard about the “whisker fatigue” angle, and although Cleo does have stunningly expansive whiskers, to the point that she scrapes both walls whilst tromping down the hallways, her food bowl is the size of Jupiter. She just insists on controlling all the orbiting moons…
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