Goodbye, Farewell to Whoozsha Kitty
Spanky is actually funnier in real life. I’m talking tears streaming down my face funny. I cannot have a conversation with her without choking on my laughter. She’s a rare one, that Spank.
This has been a safe haven, an angry spot and a place of deep consideration. But it is time for me to go. Time to take my Kitty and move along. Rumor has it Whoozsha Turkey will fill my shoes, however, Kitty has some concerns regarding the ability of a Turkey to stand post as Dectector and Informant of Mice. This position is not be taken lightly. It requires late night shift work that involves stealth prowling and sitting completely still for long periods of time in the dark waiting for the slightest of movement. The urge to pounce should be almost absent. The assignment is one of dectection, and then immediate informing must ensue. This requires the applicant to charge, at maximum velocity, up two flights of stairs and directly, from an airborne position, onto the sleeping body of the home owner. If the home owner is not already imbedded into the ceiling plaster as a result of the abrupt jolt, then the mouse in the house informant must partake in loud, gutteral howling noises. Prancing around on the bed while howling helps. Once the home owner has acknowledged the five-alarm rodent call, it is then necessary to run up and down the two flights of stairs in a frenzie in order to lead the home owner to the scene at hand. This almost always works. Once the informant and the home owner arrive at the scene, a lot of howling and weaving between the home owner’s legs must take place followed by intermittent spells of the classic Vulture Kitty Pose with nose pointing in the direction of said mouse. Here’s the hard part. The home owner will then whine, “Emily [or Turkey in this case], if there was a mouse under the couch, it’s gone now. You’ve scared it away with all your high horse antics. Now quit slamming around the house in the middle of the night. You’re too old for this behavior. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack.” Ignore the home owner’s plea, as she does not know what she is talking about.
Okay ladies. Give me an hour or two and I’ll see on the dune.
