By Betsy Love
If I believed in reincarnation, I decided I’d be a cat. My cat is the proud owner of our home without paying one single mortgage payment. She sleeps when and wherever she wants, eats as much as she wants, whenever she wants, gets as fat as she wants. There are no worries over bills, or maintenance of the house or yard. If she requires attention all she need do is cry about it, and someone jumps to see what her desire is. She is queen of the castle and knows it.
As for me? I am her loyal servant. The minute I walk in the door she greets me with, “Meow, meow, meow.” The interpretation is, “Where have you been? I was lonely. And don’t touch me, I just cleaned my fur.” I tell myself every day when I get home from work that I am going to completely ignore her. The results? “Meow, meow, meow,” until I look into her gleaming yellow eyes and answer to her complaints, “Excuse, me, I’m the ruler here. What took you so long? And fill my water dish, again.”
If I could be a cat I’d come home and say to my family, “Whine, whine, whine.” Interpreted means, “When’s dinner? Somebody else has to do the dishes. And I’m going to get on my computer and don’t bother me.” Of course the reality is that my family thinks they are all cats too. “Take me to the store. I need $60 dollars for a swimsuit. Help me with my homework.”
Maybe I’ll be a hamster.