Columnist A Cat For All Seasons

TIME WORTH A PONDER

This time of year if you cat butlers and cat maids aren’t deer hunting or duck hunting, you’re watching the big game.

That not only means the popcorn is popping across the land, it means you’re neglecting your cat’s needs.

If there are grown men chasing a brown ball that’s pointy on both ends, it’s the big game.

That’s a fact, especially in November when there are championships and bowl bids on the line.

Your faithful tom cat plans to host the Boat Dock Food Dish Bowl on New Year’s Day, but that’s another column.

We’re here today to extol the virtues of being boss cat and ruler of the hovel.

We cats eat when we want, sleep where we want and get let in and out 50 times a day if we want.

It’s like the scientist said in the paper about Comet ISON. “Comets are like cats. They all have tails and do what they want.”

Take last weekend.

The cat butler’s hiney was glued to his rocker and his eyes to the big game.

I, Boat Dock, opted for more civilized activity like a power nap on the living room counter. The smooth countertop is nice and cool, perfect for an afternoon snooze.

At halftime, my manservant stepped outside to take care of some outdoor chores.

I easily and gracefully accomplished the 4-foot leap to the countertop, circled once to survey the scene and curled up on the Formica where my manservant had set down the TV remote.

I rolled over on my back in full road kill sleep pose, half of me hiding his silly remote.

Dreams of lizard chases danced through my head when I was rudely awakened. A door slammed and the cat butler wasback, ready for the second half. By kickoff he’d re-glued himself to the rocker.

But wait. Where are the yack-meister announcers?

What happened to the sound?

There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth there in the living room. My cabin boy jumped up, seized the remote from beneath my fur and started fi ddling with the buttons. He pushed the mute button about 50 times in case he’d shut off the sound. No dice. He tried a diff erent station.

Still no sound.

Time had come for drastic measures.

That is, call the satellite provider’s customer service number. Oh, anything but that.

The CB had one last brain fl ash.

That was to fool with volume button.

He pressed it a few times and the volume came back.

“Boat Dock!” he bellowed. Oh, right. Blame the cat.

Turns out when I settled down for my nap, the half of me on top of the remote turned down the volume.

I wondered why things got so quiet, just in time for my snooze.

Now all was right with the world and the big game.

So was it an accident, or was it on purpose, that I just happened to turn down the squawking when I laid down for my nap?

Heh heh. That’s for me to know and my manservant to fi nd out.

BOAT DOCK IS FELINE OUTDOORS COLUMNIST FOR NWA MEDIA. HIS COLUMN APPEARS WHEN HE FEELS LIKE WRITING ONE. WRITE TO BOAT DOCK ON HIS FACEBOOK PAGE.

Outdoor, Pages 6 on 12/05/2013

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