Unhappy. Unimpressed. Ungrateful.
I could go on, but you get the gist, I’m sure.
I’ll keep my presents to myself next time if that’s all the thanks I get.
Better still, I’ll find someone else to shower my attention on; someone who’ll show some gratitude and love in return for all my efforts; and maybe offer some treats and rewards right back my way. Sadly, I’ve learnt that all relationships are transactional when you get past the initial lovey-dovey stages. I’ll scratch your back if you’ll scratch mine is all you can hope for.
I can’t believe this – I’ve been banished from my favourite spot on the sofa while Tony deals with what he calls ‘the holy mess’ I’ve made. He’s even called me a common criminal! Threatened me with the police if I continue with these ‘dirty tricks.’ Po-lice? Pl-ease! Such exaggeration. I’m not a common thief! I’m an opportunistic entrepreneur, willing to go after whatever I set my eyes on. It’s called business acumen, Mr. stuck-in-your-ways Tony White.
I’ve noticed this about men though. For all their, ‘Oh, I’m a completely relaxed twenty-first century guy’ posturing, they still don’t like a female to take the initiative or to strike out for what she wants in this world, not without his permission or approval. Well, boo-hoo, bah humbug, and tough luck to that idea! I’m a woman with a mind and personality of my own and I don’t need your permission or praise to validate my existence.
Anyway, if people leave objects lying about, they should expect them to disappear, that’s what I say. In fact, you could say I’ve done them a massive favour by removing the debris.
Tony’s sulking, hunched over on the sofa, using my favourite cushion to balance his iPad on his lap as he types embarrassed messages to all our neighbours. He has all my gifts lined up in a row on the floor and I know he is determined to list every single one of them. I can’t believe the petty-minded insensitivity of this man. After all, I put a lot of thought into those presents; surely, he should pretend to be slightly grateful for my efforts? That phone charger is brand new, the purple pen with the pineapple on top is unique, and the gorilla hand puppet is hilarious, even if it is a bit on the hairy side.
Not hilarious to Tony, apparently. He reads aloud his sentences, designed to make me cringe with shame. “Excuse me, does anyone recognise these objects? Thea acquired them in a tidy up of the neighbourhood this morning.” Oh, how he loves his italics – they express such sarcasm.
Unbelievable that someone of my stature and brilliance should be left to stew, with no comfortable cushion or treat in sight, while I listen to his determined defamation of my character. It makes my spine tingle with fury and I long to fly at him and swipe that sneer off his face. I clench and unclench my nails in anticipation.
I resist the temptation, turning my back on him instead, and march to the kitchen in search of comfort. Yes, I know; comfort eating is an emotional reaction to stress, you should do some exercise instead, think of your figure, blah-de-blah- de-blah. I’ve had that lecture thrown at me a thousand times by Tony. I’m perfectly content in my own skin, thank you very much, and I’ll eat what I want, when I want.
Turkey or beef are my favourite nibbles, just so you know.
I try to enjoy a biscuit but my right eye twitches with irritation as I hear Tony on the telephone. His tone is meek and beseeching, desperate for their good opinion, unconcerned about my bruised feelings.
“Yes, I’m so sorry... I know...I’ve told her it’s absolutely inacceptable... of course, yes, I’ll bring them back immediately.”
The door bangs behind him. He’s a great door-slammer when he’s cross. I know I’ll be getting the silent treatment all day.
Well, two can play at that game, Mr Sanctimonious. I leap up on the counter, seeking out the chicken he’s left out to defrost for dinner tonight. I don’t object to the icy patches; they add a nice crunchy texture to be honest. I feast on the tender meat, beginning to recover my usual joie-de-vivre.
Licking my lips, I jump down and head for the exit. It’s a bit of a squeeze, and my fur takes a bit of a pummelling as I push my way into the garden. Perhaps I shouldn’t have eaten all of the chicken. I shake myself to push away the negative thought. Positivity is the key to a long life. I hold my tail high in the air, my blue eyes twinkling once more.
Ah – the marvellous effects of freedom, fresh air, sunshine, and the smell of some rather nice fish next door, if I’m not very much mistaken. My whiskers tremble in anticipation as I leap on top of the fence to spy out the land. The grass next door is littered with exciting objects; a dog’s ball; an abandoned Chinese takeaway box (I’m instantly crossing paws for some left-over duck) and a pretty, shiny bracelet, glinting in the sunshine. Surely, even Tony would be impressed with that.
I lick my paws, flick out my claws, and jump down with ease. Time for a little clear-up operation. I really don’t know what state this neighbourhood would be in without me around to clean it up.
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