As She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed has spent this week preoccupied with having an Attitude of Gratitude, I’ve decided to write this blog and its all about me, me, me…..

I get the concept of gratitude but for me it’s an instantaneous thing that’s gone in a flash, like a cookie. I remember the other weekend though; I was allowed to run off leash on a hike. Yes! I’m normally leashed as I’m prone to chase anything that moves – and come to think of it, anything that ‘moo’s’ as well. I had to be forcibly restrained from killing a Black Angus that wouldn’t get out of our way on the trail. If only I’d been allowed to have at it but it wasn’t to be and I was leashed thereafter. All I can say is that’s one lucky cow! But all in all, there was a great sense of freedom coupled with the divine pleasure of rolling in piles of bovine excrement and mud.

Anyway, back to Moi…being of superb heritage and a hardwired rodent annihilator, I hone my deadly skills daily with Squeaky and Mr. Sausage in the hopes that one day something will offer its life up. I practiced on a cat once but I couldn’t handle the noise and to date the most I’ve caught are a few slow moving flies. Being leashed really sucks especially when I feel obliged to protect her from anything on wheels. The vacuum cleaner tries to kill her once a week and I’ve bitten it so many times now that She shuts me in the other room until its over. Its stressful waiting to see if She survived every attack.

I love my daily routine though. She gets up too early for my taste and being dragged outside before sunrise is, well – a drag but once that’s over there’s nothing better than helping with her yoga stretches. BTW, most of them She learned from me and my favorite posture is lying on my back squirming under her head while She attempts my downward dog move. Shoving Mr. Sausage in her face is another good move and I love my foot attack asana which is usually followed by shouting, followed by a spell hiding in the closet.

I’ll tolerate being held like a baby but I don’t appreciate shouting (aside from my own, which I’m proud to say is pleasingly penetrating). I hate loud noise with the exception of music which I enjoy even on volume 11. Anyway, my hearing is so finely tuned I can detect an asteroid slamming into the moon. That’s quite interesting but when it starts raining five miles away and the wind picks up to 10 mph, I get pretty spooked and go into one of my famous impressions; ‘Jello on a Spin Cycle’. As for thunder, I head for the bathtub and her assurances that it’s the Man Upstairs moving his furniture doesn’t wash because there isn’t any upstairs where we live.

Other impressions of mine that generate sympathy or positive attention are Gopher; Raised Paw Gopher; Head Tilted to One Side Gopher and I do a cool version of a low creeping thing, dragging broken back legs. I’ve perfected pathetic, if I think She’s going anywhere without me.

Did I mention I prefer Men? May I also mention the stuff She makes me wear? While I appreciate the extra layer in winter, it’s pretty humiliating being adorned in pink faux fur and glitter. There’s also a dress that She forces me into on ‘Special Occasions’ – it’s bloody awful leopard print with a tiered velvet skirt. Worse, She’s emailed pictures of me wearing it to the World. I’ll never be able to hold my head up at Westminster now.

Anyway, back to the noise issue; one thing that freaks me out is the plastic container that strawberries come in – opening that sends me into jello-spin-cycle mode and I’m wary of the sound of running water as She simultaneously advances towards me wearing rubber gloves and carrying a towel after I’ve rolled in road kill. She just doesn’t get that I need to disguise myself as a corpse to become an invisible hunter. No wonder I’ve never caught anything bigger than a moth – I always smell of Baby Shampoo.

But I mustn’t complain. As long as inside doors are left open so I can mug her when She’s using the bathroom; as long as I get taken everywhere She goes and provided She feeds me bits of whatever food She’s prepping, I’m content except I wish it weren’t mostly salad stuff.

And I know She doesn’t mean it when she threatens to duct tape my muzzle or have me fashioned into a stylish purse because She feeds me twice daily, walks me regularly, lets me sleep in her bed and shred the occasional Kleenex.

I just hope She doesn’t find what I did behind the sofa to a packet of chewing gum that I stole from her purse.