My cat's secret thoughts

by Barbara Crowley

Barbara Crowley has spent a lifetime of creative writing for pleasure. She has written humorous poems for fun and profit. Liberty's Scrapbook is her debut novel. Revision 2 of Liberty's Scrapbook was released in August 2022.

Ms. Crowley dedicated the past ten years as a volunteer tutor for adult literacy. She spends much of her time gardening, reading or as a volunteer for Neuse River Writers.

Ms. Crowley lives in a small town in central North Carolina with her cat, Tulip.

Tulip has no one to talk to unless I'm at home with her. I imagine she speaks to every venetian blind she gets her paws into. "If Mom won't open you, I will!"

Her kibble is stored in a plastic bin -- which Tulip has proven adept at opening. My only recourse was to refrigerate her food. Although I don't always visit the fridge for her specifically, Tulip races to be the first one to arrive at its door. She's forever hopeful that "Mommy's going to feed me!"

At the height of her most obnoxiousness, Tulip not-so-silently demands, "It's time for a meal. Do NOT keep me waiting!"

Tulip regularly visits the kitchen counter. It has long been a bone of contention between us. She has tested (and defeated) all types of barriers since she took up residence here. When realizing her access is blocked, Tulip laments, "Why does Mom insist on ruining my fun?"

It is not unusual to find bits of shredded paper on the floors (often from written notes to myself, or bills due for payment). Then there are paper bags; most cats like to play with them. The latest cat-in-bag experiment started the usual kitty way (comically exploring the Ins and Outs). As my feline chows down to shred the bag, Tulip probably thinks, "This is delicious!"

There are times when Tulip behaves like a dog. When a guest comes to visit, she sniffs the person's leg to identify the scents. "Hmmm...this human has two cats and five dogs. Very interesting!"

Of course, she enjoys looking out of windows.

When my car pulls into the gravel parking space, Tulip appears at the office window. "Mommy's coming!"

Once I exit the car, Tulip leaves her perch in a race to meet me at the front door. "Mommy's home!"

She splits her time between watching birds fly, or the feral cats who catch them, and traces two squirrels scampering up trees. Fall seems to be Tulip's favorite season; if only she could catch leaves falling from trees blowing in the wind. The glass prevents her success. "If only I could sneak out the door. I want to be part of the action." 

Tulip effectively transmits these messages through body language. Her desire - to visit the great outdoors - is kiboshed by a well-placed foot (or box or shopping bag) in the door. "Mommy, please do not block the door."

(Yes, I got her message, but the answer is always "No."

I yearn for the times when Tulip settles in my lap.

As she kneads my lumpy lap, she thinks, "Ah... just let me share a quiet moment with you."

Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.

Her soft purrs let me know, "I love you, Mom."

The feeling is mutual.