You all know Cats are smart. I should, being one myself. Naturally there are degrees of smartness, and although I rarely see other felines, I think I would rank in the top order.
Reading my fan mail is most tiresome…
I’m quite a modest sort of chap, rarely given to exaggerations about my prowess or intelligence, humble about my numerous and unprecedented capabilities, coy about my many successes. But today I was rumbled after a cunning and devious plot that has succeeded for quite a few days.
The thing about humans is that they always make absurd assumptions about their owners, or pets as they like to call us. Now dogs are fucking stupid, we all know that, but they are still the masters of manipulation. Cats, of which I humbly and accept I am amongst the elite, are more subtle in the utter domination of the two legged species. As was once said “Four legs good, two legs subservant”.
Anyway, enough of this self-depreciation.
I get fed twice a day, and more if I make a nuisance of myself. When I say make a nuisance, by that I mean simply give that cute ‘something’s wrong look’. Ever since Two Leg Junior has been back at the house this has worked a treat. Even to the point that he has given me nibbles behind Two Leg Senior’s back. He’s basically a soft twat. Even when he tells me off it’s like being savaged by a tickling feather.
I’m not greedy, but I do like to feast all day if I can. What the two leggers haven’t caught on to, until yesterday, is that self service is not beneath me. Well, not unless someone else is around to facilitate it.
When they go for their all to short sleeps I go on to manoeuvres. Recently, due to their stupidity, they have left the pouches of cat food on show in the kitchen. The other day the older one left a steak and kidney pie out too. The feckers have been debating amongst themselves as to why my food has disappeared so quickly and panic buying more. When the older one thought that that he lost his pie the younger one put it down to forgetfulness. As he’s 84, he just accepts it. Always have an older servant, you can get away with anything.
Anyway, I’ve been kicking these delicacies off the surfaces and dragging them into the Dining Room. In there I have my banquet, out of site, and in the quiet of solitude without Two Leg Junior pissing me off every few seconds saying “Oh, you’re enjoying that aren’t you Lukey”.
I got rumbled though. Another two legger, a female, who I actually quite like, does the cleaning. Unfortunately, she found the empty packets in my secret stash area. This has buggered up my plans for a harvest of gluttony this weekend. The two leggers have admittedly been shocked by my ability to carry out such simple expeditions of talent, but have nonetheless started to put the food away.
So my next task is to learn how to open the cupboards and clear up after myself. The first is routine, the second rather beneath me. However I’ll do it if I really have to, if only to sow confusion and convince the older one of his senility.