Naptime, playtime, dinner time and bedtime seem to have rolled along for quite a while now. My monkeys and I have established a comfortable routine; they feed me and pet me and take care of my simple needs a la toilette, and I give them head-bumps, twine around their legs affectionately, sleep on their feet when it’s cold, and on those happy snuggly mornings when they don’t go away for the day, I occasionally creep between them for petting and generally being adored.
A few mornings ago, this routine was a little different: the monkeys brought boxes upstairs and opened them on the bed and laughed. We snuggled and of course there was much Adoration of the Kiti (me). Then my male monkey brought me something wrapped up in crinkle stuff that jingled and smelled intriguing. It was a NEW TOY that I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE. It is a fuzzy jingle thing on a string, but the weird thing is that it bounces in the air when they wiggle the little stick that it hangs from. When I grabbed
the jingle thing and went to take it away to my lair, it snapped back to the stick with an audible “ba-woingg!” noise. This noise seemed to amuse them greatly. They kept imitating it: “ba-woingg!!” I played and played with it thoroughly, until I signalled that I was fatigued. They laughed and laughed.
I am happy that they are so amused and entertained by my attention to detail and my serious and quite deadly hunting instincts. I am king of this cave, after all.
Yesterday, however, was different. I was bundled uncerermoniously into the little box-thing that they use to transport me away from our cave, and we all got in the smelly box that moves. I called to them, disconsolate. They called back to me cheerfully. I decided to accept my fate.
Eventually, we arrived someplace that smelled of other! CATS! and of things I associate with being frightened and feeling odd. My Internet researches have taught me that this would be a good time to say “OH NOES!”
We sat for some time in a gathering area. My monkey walked over and casually petted ANOTHER CAT which was strolling around, obviously the king of the place. She skritched his ears and talked to him. He was orange, like the mysterious previous owner of our den, as I’ve discovered his or her hairs in my investigations and explorations. Other cats were there, but were being held (carefully) by their monkeys. None of them seemed happy to be there, either.
Heigh ho, we go into a little room, and it’s clear that I’m about to be tortured for information. You’ll never get it out of me, monkeys! You’ll never find all the furry mice.
A young female monkey came in and approached me respectfully, holding an implement in her paw. I allowed her to stroke me, hold my foot, and clip my rear knives, which I will admit had become rather long and scraggly. My monkeylady assisted her by holding me comfortably so the other foot-knives could be clipped. That wasn’t so bad. The young monkey went away and I thought “Here it comes.”
A monkey lady who smelled of other cats and odd things came in and made encouraging noises at me. I decided to hunker down in a cat-fu position that an adept would recognize as a defensive one, “Crouching Tabby, Airplane Ears.”
I steeled myself for the inevitable poking.
She looked in my ears while my monkeylady gabbled in their incomprehensible patois at her. The lady, who seemed to be a practitioner of the arts of cat torture, was surprisingly gentle, but authoritative: she stuck a stick in my ear. Well, it has been itching lately. And my knives had been catching on things, prompting me to try to trim them myself. She felt me all over, and then she waved a wand-thing over my back. It went “Beep!” and the torture-monkey made a pleased sound. My monkeys sounded pleased
too: they were given a folded paper.
I think alien monkeys must have put a “chimp” in my back so that I could be somehow identified or tracked from Mars or something!!
Before my monkeys ever came and got me, when I was still in cat durance vile, something was done to me back there, and when I was in the Lost Time and was arrested and brought to another cat torture place, they waved a wand over me. They seemed disappointed then - maybe it didn’t tell them all about my adventures, or about the First Monkeys who had torturers cut away my front-knives and some other prized parts of my person. Those First Monkeys… it’s probably best that I don’t really remember. I still get scared
in the dark at bedtime; I don’t know why, but I only like the foot of the bed-thing at night. However, I have come to enjoy cuddling and petting with the male monkey, and even allow him to curl me up in his arms and hold me. He finally learned how to do it properly, of course.
Also, I don’t like feet much. Feet with shoes, especially. I run away sometimes and have to remember “you’re safe, you’re safe.” And then, of course, I stroll back and pretend nonchalance. That is all I really can recall of my time “before,” really; a vague feeling of fear and an overpowering need to escape.
Fortunately, I now love and trust my dear monkeys, and they seem to understand that sometimes I get a little scared, but it goes away quickly. Even yesterday, I was never really that scared. I just stayed in my cat-fu defensive posture until it was clear that the worst was over and there would be no poking up one’s personal backside area. Eventually I was able to relax and purr for them a little as they petted me in the little torture room, just to show them there were no hard feelings.
Finally, finally, the torture monkey seemed to conclude her examination of me, and apparently I passed with flying colors, and I didn’t even have to tell them where even one fuzzy mouse is tucked under the… never mind. Back into the carrier-thing, more waiting out in the gathering room looking at other cats. One of them was rather hissy, so I ignored him. Bad form.
And back we came to our warm cave, where I received treats and some playtime with my favorite new ba-woingy jingle-thing. All is now right in the world.
