Sure, my kitty, Cleo, can’t actually talk. But she lets me know, in her own feline way, what’s on her holiday wish list. Here are her top five requests for Christmas gifts (although I’m sure there are more):
Every time a stranger comes over, it becomes Smell Someone New Day, my cat’s favorite holiday! Ankles and purses to sniff! Hair to investigate! Bottoms of shoes to analyze!
When Cleo and I moved, it was a nose extravaganza, her tiny pink nostrils flaring at warp speed to investigate every corner. Now that she’s thoroughly sniffed every inch of my place, she needs a steady diet of new scents to keep her interest piqued, like an olfactory Encyclopedia Brown.
It is tragic and unfortunate that I ever have cause to leave the house, because THEN Cleo must find a napping spot that is not 98.6 degrees. How DARE I, right? A tiny gesture of my solemn regret would be a heating pad so Her Majesty is never without a warm place to sleep. (The sun, after all, is fickle.)
I haven’t gotten her a heating pad yet because I worry about unwittingly starting a fire. Silly human! If Cleo could talk, I’m sure she would correct me and say that I’m worried about the wrong thing (after all, anything except her comfort is clearly the wrong thing!).
Ugh, the dreaded nail-trimming. I can baby her all I want — talking in my most soothing voice and giving her treats afterward — but whenever I trim Cleo’s nails, I become a fascist dictator in her mind. (Thankfully, she seems to forgive, or at least forget, pretty quickly.)
She NEEDS her claws to be razor-sharp so she can shred the back of my pink swivel chair (which, thankfully, I got on Craigslist for only $25, but still). If only I would stop trimming her nails so she can slowly whittle them into bird-killing death spikes!
My ex-boyfriend accidentally let Cleo into my backyard once — ONCE — and ever since, that forbidden frolic fills her dreams. She paws at the back door practically daily, as if it had ever led to successfully getting me to let her out. NOPE. Instead, I pick her up and let her look out into the backyard through the window, pretending that’s what she wanted all along. She goes along with this, disgruntled and patiently waiting for the day she gets another taste of freedom.
(And lest you think I’m a monster, I’ve read those statistics that say indoor cats live much longer, and I live next to a busy street. But I hate denying my kitty anything, so I’ve been considering a cat leash or harness out of guilt.)
OH JOY! Whenever I dunk Cleo’s blue toy mouse in catnip and leave it on the floor for her to love-kick in a drugged frenzy, she glances longingly at the catnip container. Because while a little catnip is good, ALL THE CATNIP is infinitely better.
She dreams of burying her snoz in all eight ounces of catnip like a feline Scrooge McDuck, catnip flakes carpeting her surroundings. I cannot in good conscience permit such a bender, but that doesn’t stop her from dreaming.
What does your cat want for the holidays? And what are you getting him or her? Let us know in the comments!