When my girls and I went up North for Spring Break in March, I started getting emails from a rather surprising character. Who might that be, you ask? Surprisingly, these emails were from one of my cats, Snowbell. No one was claiming ownership for these emails although I suspect the person responsible for typing up what came to be called “Snowbell’s Log” was my good friend caring for Snowbell and Ginger in our absence. In any case, “Snowbell” continued to add an entry to her log every day, and it made its way to my inbox every night. I would read these emails aloud daily, and the girls cackled with glee looking forward to hearing what our nefarious feline was up to while the proverbial cat was away. How exactly did the mice play? Apparently, she watched “Star Trek” and discovered the Borg among other things.
Well, much to my surprise, Snowbell has started emailing me again. If any cat could do it, then it would be her. She is…crafty, and I’m convinced she’s plotting some kind of world domination. Don’t believe me? You’d have to meet her to understand. There’s something just a little bit frightening behind her eyes. In any case, I’d like to introduce you to another member of my family who is, apparently, introducing herself to you as a guest blogger here on Empowered Grace. And, no, I did NOT write this.
Snowbell’s Log, Day 54
I don’t know what was happening with my biped keepers this past week, but they were awfully self-absorbed. It started on Monday when the tall female biped received a call from someone they call Doctor. From the conversation, this Doctor is like a vet but for bipeds. I wonder if the young bipeds resist getting into their carriers for visits to the biped vet as much as Ginger and I. Perhaps this is why the biped vet calls instead of insisting the bipeds visit.
Anyway, the tall female received a call, and when she spoke to the male biped she spoke of pertussis and antibiotics and pulling the two older young ones home from school. After more phone calls, she shook her head and used a word no being on the planet wishes to hear – quarantine.
Ginger was quite excited to hear that most of her bipeds would be home for the week. In her mind this meant she would have more snuggle time and wouldn’t have to walk anywhere as the bipeds would carry her around like a royal cat. She’s gotten quite lazy after watching a Discovery Channel documentary on Ancient Egypt and the cult of the cat. It’s no wonder the bipeds purchased her a walking harness and stuffed her sausage body into it for a walk last week. She’s my sister, but I have to admit, she’s let herself go in the last year.
I was not as sanguine about the news of the quarantine. I have seen the biped young when they are ill, and it’s not pretty. There is much moaning and sniffling. Sometimes there are even tears. They lie on the couch, languishing. Suddenly they don’t know there is more to life than Double Divas, NCIS, or Adventure Time. I swear, if I have to watch another episode of Double Divas, I may grow boobs large enough I will need a brassiere. The ladies of Double Divas will have to devise a bra for [how many teats does a cat have]. The thought, it’s enough to make me shudder.
Youngest is already at home, coughing and wheezing. As soon as the two older young came home, my fears were realized. I yowled in protest as they lay on the couch watching some nonsense when all I wanted was more Star Trek. I do so love the Borg and continually hope there is an episode where the Borg win. Would they turn the channel? Of course not. Forget that I have needs. No, during this time of illness I will be forgotten.
I yowled and mewled and cried for a couple of hours. Mostly to annoy them. If I annoyed them enough perhaps they would snap out of their funk and think of me.
I failed. Other than the tall female biped laughing at what she referred to as ‘my antics’, my bipeds ignored me. At least the rodent was entertaining. I took to sneaking into the youngest’s room and stalking him while he ran about his cage.
The only biped in the entire house who hadn’t come down with this awful malaise was Grace. She continued with school and got out of the house daily. I think that was good for her. If she had been stuck here with the other inmates she would have melted down. Ginger has quite the fondness for Grace. She says Grace is special and in need of gentle care. Me, I think Grace is made of sterner stuff and treat her like I treat everyone else. Okay, so I check on her at night to make sure the men with guns aren’t inside. If they are, I give them a swipe with my formidable claws, and they retreat immediately. No stupid men are going to hurt my Grace.
Grace was rather excited this week as her class had a performance in which she was going to juggle scarves. I assume this scarf juggling is just another way to entertain me. I can think of nothing better than swiping at their gauzy tails as she floats them through the air. As of now, she has yet to pull out any scarves. I may have to drag one or two out of the tall one’s room as an enticement.
I have to go. Ginger is killing Kermit the Frog again. That poor stuffed animal is going to need years of therapy to get over this trauma.