“I’m not sharing,” I told Freddie. “You can’t have anything on this plate. It’s all garlicky.”
Freddie didn’t answer, but he did hook the claws of his right paw into the flesh of my hand and yank it over to his mouth.
“I’m not even holding any food!” I complained.
He smelled my hand anyway, just in case I was lying. I rolled my eyes.
Outside, a duck chose that moment to land in the pool with a loud splash.
A gentle reminder of how we do things: 🐱🐶🐦
- Do not troll the diary. If you hate pootie diaries, leave now. No harm, no foul.
- Please do share pics of your fur kids! If you have health/behavior issues with your pets, feel free to bring it to the community.
- Pooties are cats; Woozles are dogs. Birds... are birds! Peeps are people.
- Whatever happens in the outer blog STAYS in the outer blog. If you’re having “issues” with another Kossack, keep it “out there.” This is a place to relax and play; please treat it accordingly.
- There are some pics we never post: snakes, creepy crawlies, any and all photos that depict or encourage human cruelty toward animals. These are considered “out of bounds” and will not be tolerated. If we alert you to it, please remember that we do have phobic peeps who react strongly to them. If you keep posting banned pics...well then...the Tigress will have to take matters in hand. Or, paw.
“Oh my Ceiling Cat,” Freddie breathed.
“It’s just a bird,” I said, quickly, hoping I could talk him into ignoring it.
He whined.
I set my fork down and petted him, willing him to be calm.
He shook me off, lowered his belly to the couch and slithered off it to the ground. Then he army crawled to his row of cat beds and ducked behind them.
In the pool, the duck swam in gentle circles, totally unbothered.
I was not exactly happy that Freddie was being made upset, but it did allow me a little time to eat in peace. “You hunt that duck!” I encouraged, taking a bite of noodles.
On the floor, Freddie whined and chattered.
“You tell him!” I said, my mouth full.
He looked over his shoulder at me. ‘Save some of that for me,” he demanded.
I took another big bite. “No problem,” I said around a mouthful.
Freddie appeared next to me. I looked outside and the duck was still there. I frowned at him. “What about the duck?” I asked.
“What about that shrimp?” he replied.
I looked down at my plate and the coconut shrimp that sat on a bed of chow mein noodles. “It’s not good for you,” I said.
“It’s shrimp. That’s cat food.”
His treats were shrimp flavored, I remembered, looking over at the bag. “Alright,” I said, picking up the bag. “You can have some shrimp.”
I dropped a small pile next to his paws and went back to my meal. Freddie hoovered them up instantly, then went back to laser staring at my dinner.
I shook my head. “You're getting older and I want to keep you healthy. That means a lot less human food.”
“There’s no human food. There’s just food. And I need food to survive,” he said his nose up in the air.
Outside, the duck called out a string of quacks.
Freddie dropped to the couch cushion, putting me firmly between him and the backyard.
“Your beef and broccoli distracted me from danger,” Freddie accused in a loud whisper.
“I don’t think you like broccoli,” I mused.
“I like beef!” he yelled, then ducked down further, his ears totally flat. “You’ll get the duck’s attention if you keep this up,” he complained.
“You’re the one yelling. I’m just having dinner.”
Freddie gave me a heavy, serious look. “You save some of that for me,” he demanded again.
“Yeah, I’ll definitely do that,” I agreed, picking a large piece of green onion from the noodles and setting it aside.
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then dropped to the floor again.
“Get that duck!” I encouraged.
Freddie’s head pivoted from me to the duck and back again. “I need to watch this duck!” he cried.
“You should!” I agreed. I picked up a spring roll and dunked it into some sweet and sour sauce. “This take out place is really good,” I told Freddie.
He gave a long, frustrated whine and turned back to the window.
“Just focus on the duck,” I advised him, “since I’m not sharing my dinner.”
The duck left as quickly as he had arrived, in a whoosh of feathers and water. He flew across the backyard, only gaining just enough altitude to clear the neighbor’s fence before he disappeared.
Freddie watched the fence for a few minutes, just in case the duck was coming back, then came back to me.
He gaped down at my empty bowl. “You said you’d save some!” he accused.
“Oh, yeah. I lied.”
“The duck was a bad omen,” Freddie said, sadly.
“The duck was a Spring omen,” I said.
“That’s the worst kind,” the cat said, tucking his paws beneath him.
Happy Caturday, Peeps! The duck hasn’t been back, but it’s just a matter of time.