When I started working at home little did I know I was going to �explore new worlds and boldly go where no housewife has gone before?� I was about to enter the secret world of pets or the twilight zone of tweet and friends.
It all starts in the morning now. No longer are the pets waiting for me to return from work to feed and play. The old curmudgeonly cat knows at 7:30 that I must rise and fill the bowel. If the bottom of the bowl is seen for too long, feline famine will no doubt occur. If you can see the bottom of the cat food bowl it means that the end is near. The old curmudgeon cat knows this applies to the dog food bowl as well. The Nigel, walking dust ball dog foolishly� does not care. He knows if he eats, that boring dry dog food, that he will never receive people food again. Besides, cat food is always considered a reliable back up.
The old cat is a black tailless Manx who is fifteen and has lost a few teeth. No matter; he eats his breakfast is one fell swoop with out the benefit of chewing. He fears that feline famine that occurs when you see the bottom of the bowl. He returned the majority of his breakfast that he eats before I got up. He left it next to the bed for me to step in. It is in m just reminder of the fact, that he should never suffer the indignity of seeing the bottom of the bowl .because he is the head of the feline herd and he looks out for that stupid dog as well. He pushes me out of bed; with his silly round Manx head. He meows at the indignity. The herd is waiting in the hall. They follow, the errant human, to the bowl to make sure it is properly filled.
It is not that I can sleep anyway. The cockatiel twins Captain Morgan and Marie are singing that Andy Griffith song; at dizzying manic pace. They too can see the bottom of the bowl and they too have seen the herd. The herd of cats is only acting disinterested at the birdie birds. Secretly, these cats are considering pet cannibalism should the human not rise and cover the dreaded bottom of the bowl.
I am followed .I stumble half awake to deal with the crisis. I cover the bottom of the bowl. Two, of the herd of cats, are on the counter. They are blocking my way to the coffee maker. There will be no caffeine for me should I not hear the daily complaint of the herd. Diva cat, Cherokee, must make it known that she is entitled to that tuna in kept in the cabinet above the coffee maker. She has influenced, that silly young Vive cat, to be here side kick in tuna conning. Stupid Vive would never be allowed by the herd with in two feet of an open tuna can. The folly of youth, leads Vive to believe in a different world she too would be allowed to dine on divine tuna as a Diva cat in training. She pulls the cute routine. They are doing indigent cat and cute cat routine. Cherokee is pushing my hand away from the coffee maker. Vive, diva in training, cutely paws the cabinet of tuna. The caffeine deprived person boldly chases half the herd off the counter and the reluctantly eat th e dry food. I must avert the crisis. Only sweet Hermes, the only �good cat� in the herd, looks upon the morning in confusion. She likes dry cat food. Sweetly, she checks out the piggish little fur ball dog .Nigel is blocking her way to the bowl. Nigel sees this as the perfect opportunity to deplete the enemy�s food supply. This will help avoid the bottom of the bowl crisis in his food bowl. If you never eat the gross dry dog food; your bowl is never empty.
I warily stumble with my coffee towards the television. I seek the morning news from the unimportant world of people. Nigel reminds me of my place. He has the stupid Milk bone moose. It must be thrown before I sit. He is as Palin pup in a democratic household obsessed with his moose. My liberal early morning sensibilities aroused; I decide to put him out back in the morning cold. I do a bee line toward the back yard so Palin pup can go potty. Now comes the time to block the herd. Lead by the old curmudgeonly cat to escape into the land of sun and tuna. The back door must be the door to kitty paradise. I maneuver the Palin pup out the back door .I successfully block the herd from the mystery land ;that I allow the stupid dog to enter several times a day.
I declare victory and return to my coffee. But the sweet Andy Griffith song has become the war cry of cranky cockatiels. I must be the hero. I again, thwart the crisis of bottom of the bowl sighting for the bird Someday I will know what is going on in the world of people .Today; I can only slave away in my secret world of pets.
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