Hi, it’s Roxie and I’m still here. Now, some of you probably thought I’d died or worse, that I’d run out of things to say. Rest assured, I’m full of things to say. I just haven’t been able to get any computer time around this place. Mom and Dad have been in and out for the past two weeks soaking up culture, or as Mom says, “Kulcha” – Newport, Kingston, the Berkshires, Baltimore. And they took the laptop with them, leaving me behind to babysit ZuZu, aka “Momma’s Darling Little Snookums Sweetie Pie”.
While they were gallivanting around, two large boxes arrived. I could hardly contain myself. Finally, Dad and She who Can’t Get Enough “Kulcha” came home and opened them. They began unpacking books and piling them on the dining room table. You know – the table I’m not supposed to be on because, according to She Who Must Be Obeyed, “I am not a bowl of fruit nor am I a centerpiece, a flower arrangement, or a platter of meat”. Some days, the woman’s like a broken record. (For the millennials out there, the record or LP preceded 8-track tapes CD’s and iTunes. They were discs made of vinyl and easily scratched, causing the phonograph – a box-like machine which played records – needle to get stuck in the grooves and play the same thing over and over.)
“Roxie Dammit, stop chewing on that table-cloth! Roxie Dammit, get out of that bowl. You’re squashing the bananas! Roxie Dammit, come back here with that lamb chop! Roxie Dammit, don’t make me go over there! ” You can tell when the woman’s out-of-control because she always stresses my middle name. It’s really getting on my nerves.Sometimes when she’s not here, the sound of her nagging resonates through the empty rooms like the interminable background Muzak playing in an elevator stuck between floors.
When she starts the “yadda, yadda, yadda” routine, I just want to scream at her , “I AM AN ANIMAL! If you prick me do I not bleed?” (Which reminds me – my annual vet checkup should be soon.) Deja vu! Will this nightmare never end?! The quality of mercy gets strained beyond repair around this place!
So here I sit, in front of the laptop, wondering how to break the terrible news to you all. I truly hate to spoil your week but, Frigate! (please excuse my language), there is no book with me on the cover! I’ve checked out every single page and not a picture of me is to be found. “How can that be possible?” you ask, shaking your heads in utter amazement and disbelief? Well, I’ll tell you how – because, Frigate! (again, pardon my language), it’s another ZuZu book! And, to add insult to injury, it features two animals that don’t even live in this house.
She Who Needs a Valium is writing about strange creatures that live in a barn, are known to spit and according to ZuZu, have fleas! Fleas, I tell you! (Of course this has immense appeal to my disgusting little, bug-eating sister.)
And while we’re on the topic of disgusting, She Who Adores Flea Bate has been gushing about how the ginger-colored alpaca loves to kiss her when she visits. What world does that woman inhabit? Someone needs to give her a serious talk on oral hygiene. Anyone could figure out the animal’s attracted to her bacon breath. If the witless creature had teeth that actually worked, it would be chomping her lips off trying to get to the smorgasbord between her choppers.
But I digress.
After the shock wore off, my thoughts immediately turned to you. My heart goes out to those who have been patiently waiting for a Roxie Book. Roxie D. aka The Other Cat; the long-suffering, fun-loving, affectionate, resilient, self-sacrificing feline whose incredible life story has yet to make it into print and onto the shelves.
As you can well-imagine, right now I’m identifying very closely with my friend, Bernie Sanders. I’m feeling burnt. No one wants to be second fiddle to a feisty, resilient, young whippersnapper. We could learn a lot from those loyal Bernie followers! If I had my fan club with me, we could stage a walk-out. We could go to the gazebo and commiserate and make posters with my picture on it!
Have I mentioned how much I love the gazebo? It’s the one place She Who Must Decorate doesn’t fill with her junk every holiday – the Santas, and the snowmen and the eyeless angels and those horrible ceramic bunnies and chickens in the bins down in the cellar – multiplying as we speak! .
I really love to sit out in the gazebo with Dad and listen to baseball on the radio. If we just lived in a civilized place where it never snowed and summer lasted all year, I’d be in heaven. I’d move out to the gazebo and lock the door so Little Baby Snookums couldn’t get to me. Maybe if I had a room of my own, with a lock? An en suite with one of those self-cleaning litter boxes I didn’t have to share. And a computer. And a printer. And a big bag of cat treats. Maybe I could write my own memoir and get it published? I could call it ” I Know Why the Caged Cat Yowls”. I can dream, can’t I?