|ME -- KittyCat Simpson, a handsome tuxedo cat|
The picture is me in Mom’s rock garden one year in March. I think what’s neat about rock gardens is all the different critters you can find under the rocks. One time I collected some so I could play a good April fool’s joke on Snook.
See, Snook stays in nearly all the time cuz she can’t climb a tree if a dog chases her. I heard Mom say that’s cuz a doctor took out Snook’s claws when she was a kitten. But Snook says she stays indoors because (and she gives me her uppity look when she says it) “outdoor cats are flea-infested.” And she usually adds something about how I was an outdoor cat before I got adopted.
“Well, I don’t got no fleas!” I said, real miffed, the first time she talked about stray cats and sick and nasty stuff they spread around.
“Obviously,” Snob replied. “You reek” (oh, that means smell bad) “of flea repellent.” (That is flea go-away stuff.)
I’ll say this for being around Snook, when she’s hateful, I learn lots of new words.
Anyhow, Snook had been staying with us--I forget how long, but too long for me to put up with her put downs. Besides, a guy's gotta have fun for April first fool's day, right? That March day, it was sunny and real warm—good weather for hatching flea eggs, I figured. I went out looking for some critters to bring back and put on Snookie’s pillow. I got excited thinking what fun it would be. I couldn’t wait to hear it: “Oh, no! Gracious! Mercy! A flea...A-h-h!!! Two fleas!”
I figured her high-pitched, I’m in distress meows would bring Mom running, but by that time the fleas would have hopped on Snook and would be all comfy in their new digs. In zip time Mom would know precious Snookie was a flea bag.
Think of it—a pedigreed flea bag! Does that tickle your whiskers, or what?
I haven’t come up with any April first jokes this year, and guess I won’t cuz it’s on a Sunday. But I got an early one played on me. “Doggie” is still around. I guess she wasn’t hauled off to jail, cuz it would cost a bundle to spring her. But somebody did fork out a few bucks for her. When she’s out now, it's mostly with people, and she's wearing a collar and leash.
Ha, ha. I can still have fun on Sunday. When Doggie comes walking down the street, pulling at her new leash, I can sit in the rock garden and watch her bark at me from the sidewalk.
(c) 2012, Bernice W. Simpson