Mithy's Adventures (Part Two): Me, the Master, and the Missus

Master leaves for his business trip tomorrow. 

I watch him pack his bag while talking to the Missus and chase after my little toy ball, leaping after it as it rolls and tinkles. I keep at the pretence and performativity of a naïve feline oblivious to the activities of self-absorbed human beings who fuss over things they drape their bodies with, which they call 'clothes', and travel, which produce large amounts of environment-polluting carbon dioxide. 

Humans are wasteful creatures. I tolerate them out of the kindness of my feline soul, considering the dismal reality that the availability of attention and an endless fragrant food supply of mouthwatering kibbles depends entirely on their generosity, habits, and schedules. With my stomach grumbling and dinner still a few hours away, I have no choice but to feign my adoration for two-legged creatures with brains the size of peas. 

Unfortunately, I am not merely composed of a stomach; I have emotional needs to be met. A pat on my head, a cuddle, or a scratch behind my ears and under my chin, creates a profound sense of well-being that even I, with my superior mastery of feline stoicism, am hopelessly susceptible to. To the best of my abilities, I attempt to maintain an expression on my face devoid of emotion, but the itch under my chin and behind my ears begs for human intervention. A scratch from human fingers at these delicate areas leads to my eyes squinting with pleasure despite my best endeavours at self-restraint and composure. 

A cat’s hunger for food and attention must be satisfied, and the survival of my species necessitates measures of a severe nature. Hence, I make my presence known as the humans continue their ridiculous rituals. I rub my body against Master’s feet to ingratiate him as he charges his laptop. He smiles. But he appears absorbed in rumination on a negotiation strategy or a to-do list, his forehead creased. Who knows what humans are caught up with these days? Their ambitions to dominate the earth and all creatures are a constant bore. Master folds his long-sleeved shirts and places them on top of each other on the bed, and the cuffs of the sleeves dangle, inviting my attention. I paw at the cuffs like a typical, adorable kitten would, wagging my tail, disgusted by my obsequious attempts to please my owners, yet emboldened by their laughter as they watch my display of sheer fakery.

My efforts at tugging the heartstrings of my human owners have always paid off, as Missus never ceases to gush like a silly adult in denial of her mid-thirties crisis as she mimics the mannerism of a schoolgirl in her despicable giggle. Master, equally amused at my antics, tells Missus that he finds me an affectionate cat. I would like to laugh at their pathetically flawed observations of the feline species. But I am a determined sentient being whose goals of self-preservation supersede the desire to chuckle in the face of the ones who provide a regular source of nurture and nutrition. So I coo, a sound akin to the consonant “mm” but with a rising intonation. Instead of vocalising an assertive “mm”, like how a tough negotiator would agree with an opponent’s concession (“mm!”), I imitate the empathy conveyed by women who use uptalk to avoid appearing bossy in meetings. The result of my efforts is a  high-pitched, soft, and gentle lilt in my communication of compliance to humans (“mm?”)   

Now that Master will be away for a week, the Missus is entirely at my behest, with her inclinations to be duped by my cooing flattery at my disposal. As the couple brush their teeth and prepare for an early night's rest for their trip to the airport tomorrow at the break of dawn, I plot my intentions as I curl on their bed, and I purr.