There’s nothing more cranky than a hungry cat, unless it’s a stressed cat.
Leave it to the human subspecies to cram three major holidays into five weeks. I can hear the Einstein now who came up with this flash of brilliance.
“Hey, I’ve got it. First we’ll have Thanksgiving. Two days of delicious food and football galore.
“Then, before the dishes are dry, it’s time to plan Christmas. Another major holiday one short month later.
“Then - tadah! - a week after Christmas we’ll have New Year’s.”
And then, nothing until Memorial Day.
We cats would never squeeze three big-time holidays into two pages of the calendar. If that isn’t enough stress, my cat butler drags a tree into the house and hangs shiny stuff on every branch. Then, get this, I’m expected to leave it alone. By New Year’s, I’m ready for the Prozac kitty treats.
Each of this string of holidays has something nice going for it. Thanksgiving has all those fabulous smells coming out of the kitchen. There’s football from morning into the night, and I love a good game.
It’s quality time for my manservant and me. I’ve got my own rocker, and he’s got his.
He tries to be nice and open a tin of Friskies for me, but I’m not that fond of canned.
I love Christmas, no matter how close it is to Thanksgiving. I love the presents under our Charlie Brown tree. There are extra belly rubs and catnip for me. The cat butler even cuts a few fresh sprigs of ’nip from my catnip plant outside in the garden. It stays leafy for most of the winter.
Then there’s New Year’sDay, a paradise for me, Boat Dock. My doorman takes a shine to going fi shing or hunting on this first day of the year. One time he even entered that silly Polar Bear Bass Tournament that goes on each Jan. 1 out on my federal water dish, Beaver Lake.
That keeps him out of the house most of the day. I get a chance to sleep off some of this holiday stress with a power nap. There are New Year’s bowl games galore, we get to eat terrifi c football snacks and nobody has to buy presents. Now there’s a holiday.
Me being Mr. Friendly Cat, I love all of the holiday company. Every December, a parade of cat butlers and maids come to visit.
Only one problem. They park their hineys in my rocker. What’s a tom cat to do? Scent mark the intruders, that’s what. A little nuzzling on their ankles and they’re mine.
Trouble is, my manservant goes bananas, like I’m some dog slobbering all over our guests.
“Boat Dock!” he bellows.
Next I get clean-and-jerked into the air like it’s the cat Olympics. “Out you go.”
Oh, he will pay.
So let’s all live it up for the next week. On Jan. 2, I’ll find a nice window sill, curl up and nap until Memorial Day.
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 12/26/2013