Furball Frankie

An urgent situation cropped up earlier. I was having a semi-nap (like a full nap, but with one eye open) in my hooman's napping quarters. He came into the room, looking for something. I realised right then and there what I needed, to turn my semi-nap into a full one: I needed emergency belly rubs. I rolled onto my back, let out my cutest 'mrrrrrp!', stretched out my belly in full, and made it clear what my hooman needed to do. He said 'You're so cute', then duly obliged — giving me full belly rubs, from my chin to my rude bits. I stretched out further, let out another 'mrrrrp!', then curled up, so that he could still have belly access, but so that I was also in a cosier position to nap. I had a happy.

It's very important that I keep up my regular cleaning routine. I must wash my fur at least twice a day, so that it looks shiny and retains its catty scent. This involves lots of licks and lots of concentration. I also need peace and quiet, and space, in which to do this. I was having a good old wash in my hooman's napping quarters. All was going well, and I'd moved from concentrating on my side bits to concentrating on my belly. Then my hooman came in and squealed 'Frankiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie! Look at that gorgeous fluffy face!' This completely stopped me in my tracks. It threw my attention. I stared at him. What did he want? He walked out of the room again. Weirdo. But it was too late. He'd disturbed me. I couldn't remember which bit I'd been washing. So I had to start on my side bits again. Idiot hooman.

I had to make an emegency intervention before. I was lacking in attention from my hooman. He was putting more focus on his compooter than my fluffy little face. This had to be corrected. I jumped up to my hooman's level. I meowed. I purred. I sniffed him. I gave him catty headbutts. I demanded to be petted. I got what I wanted — face rubs and ear scritches. I then sat on the compooter.        

It is Sunday. The day is mine. I has the world at my paws. Should I stretch and run? Should I sing the song of my people? Should I attack the feather thing? Should I pounce of my hooman's feet? Or should I do an enormous yawn, roll onto my back, look cute, and cover my eyes with my paws? I think I'll do the latter.

I went to lay on a cushion earlier, to stare at my hooman for a bit, while he did 'werk'. I kept staring at him. Then I blinked for a bit. Then I yawned. Then I licked my front feets. Then I sniffed the cushion. Then I don't remember anything. I woke up many catty hours later, with a craving for chicken biscuits and a vague sense of regret. I missed lots of staring and blinking. I'll have to make sure tomorrow is more productive.

I try to help my hooman out where I can. For example, I distribute my litter evenly on the floor — not just in one spot. I cannot help him with some things though. I was on cupboard inspection duty before, and had a proper look in one of them. So much stuff. Papers. Boxes. Clothes. Pictures of my hooman looking much younger. Weird colourful things. I meowed my concerns to him. How can he live like this? A cat could get lost in there. He misunderstood my meows and gave me chicken biscuits. I accepted them.