Hello, this is Mr. Fuzzy the Cat! I decided to surprise my servant, Lorraine, by writing her column this week.
Every fall, Lorraine mentions a day called Thanksgiving, when humans eat a gigantic meal and insist they can’t eat another bite, then have dessert. They thank someone named God — who lives in a place called heaven — for the good stuff in their lives.
I’m grateful I have a comfortable life. My servant keeps the cupboard crowded with cans of food, brushes me and says I’m a good boy. Of course I am — I’m a cat!
I’m really thankful she went to the animal shelter and chose me, although I wasn’t surprised. You see, I’m a handsome lad with orange fur and stripes.
I have too much dignity to perform tricks like dogs do, but I give favorite people kisses. Plus, I’m quite cuddly, unless you pet me the wrong way, then there’s a good chance I’ll nip you.
I’m also glad she plays with me by throwing my toy mice and waving a string around for me to attack. I’ve never seen a real mouse, which is fine by me, because I’m not keen on getting my own food. Who needs the stress? It’s much easier, standing by the bowl and meowing.
I like my servant, except when she takes me to the vet. The first time this happened, she put me into a cardboard box and then into some bumpy, growling machine she called a car. I was terrified the entire trip.
In the waiting room, she put the box down and went to talk with someone. I quickly realized this was an opportunity to free myself, so I pushed hard against the top and escaped. The humans weren’t happy with me running around the room, but the animals seemed impressed.
Most of all, I’m happy I’m not a dog. I watch them through the window, and they drool and bark, and sometimes chase other cats. They obey their “master” without fail.
Let’s face it — dogs are a lower life form. Why else would they allow humans to drag them around the neighborhood with a rope around their necks? No self-respecting cat would put up with such an indignity.
Frankly, I’m doubtful dogs are allowed in that place called heaven. They’d track in dirt and fleas, and slobber on the angels. Cats, however, would find a nice lap to sit upon and purr softly. They wouldn’t make a big ruckus, like dogs do with their howling and barking.
Lorraine told me about a legend that shows how special cats are. You see, it was cold the night Jesus was born, so a small tabby cat jumped into the manger to keep him warm.
Mary was so happy, she stroked the cat’s forehead, where the initial “M” appeared. Since then, all tabby cats have “Ms” on their forehead, just like me.
If you have a cat, I hope you’ll give it a special treat on Thanksgiving. If you don’t have one, why not check out the shelter? Don’t expect to find a fellow as handsome and charming as I am — but plenty of fine felines are looking for good homes.
And although I hate to admit it, dogs are waiting to be adopted too. True, they have some annoying traits, but they still deserve decent homes.
When you go to the shelter, just tell them Mr. Fuzzy sent you. Happy Thanksgiving from me and my servant!
Lorraine’s email address is lorrainevmurray@yahoo.com.
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