I’ve never been a big fan of “a year in review,” even in blog post form. But seeing as how I never send holiday cards, I thought it would be fun to attempt such a narcissistic task in the most light-hearted way I know how, as dictated by my six-year-old black and brown tabby, who is currently rolling around on the floor high on catnip.
Here is Norm’s 2018 Year in Review:
Never apologize for… how you feel and needing to seclude yourself from the world. I do this on the daily in a 1,200-square foot apartment (pretty sure the big dumb cat who feeds me has not found all my hiding spots yet).
I still have not forgiven the big dumb cat who feeds me for taking me on a car ride to the evil place with needles. But I did find out that I was allergic to 15 different things (including tree bark, who knew?). However, this means I must endure weekly shots (not sure this is working, I’m still itchy). But the big dumb cat does give me tuna treats, so I make do.
I don’t understand why Gizmo gets to go everywhere with the big dumb cat. It’s an inanimate object. I speak five different languages (though the big dumb cat only understands one, so my talents are lost on her).
What am I doing with my life? Oh right, I’m a cat. I sleep. I beg the big dumb cat for food (these steroids make me crazy). I sleep some more. I chase wrist bands and ghosts in the walls. I pretend to be a lion. And every so often, I sneak out into the hallway and get some cardio. I can’t complain.
The big dumb cat had a bit of a scare. These inanimate objects I’ve been competing with suddenly died on her. I thought maybe wishing on that shooting star did some good, but when I saw how stressed and upset she was, I decided to change my tune. When the replacement inanimate objects arrived, I cuddled up with them to show her that I was in full support of what she needs, even if it’s not always me.
I do get bored on occasion and must find creative ways of living. The big dumb cat has been traveling a lot lately, so I thought it would be fun to surprise her. She’s gotten used to my usual tactics and laughs when I try to launch attack her from my tunnel. So, one morning, after taking a big #2 in the litter box, I hopped up on her bed and lied down next to her with my butt facing her. When she woke up and exclaimed, “Eww, what’s that smell? Eww, Norm!” I internally chuckled. Well worth the two minutes I refrained from cleaning myself.
The big dumb cat started documenting her daily life with diabetes in a new blog series, 30 Days With Diabetes (not much creativity with the name). She’s never asked my permission to be her unidentified blog mascot, but I am exceptionally photogenic, so someone else might as well enjoy the 10 million photos she takes of me.
I intentionally posed for this post. I love when the big dumb cat cleans. This means I can sneak into crevices and corners I don’t usually have access to – oh and create a mess and really annoy the big dumb cat. When she yells at me, I just meow back “waffle iron!” I don’t think she gets my insults.
I met my fairy godmother for the first time. She’s been supplying me wrist bands for the past year and carries around a photo of me on her phone. Support networks are the best. But her unconditional kindness makes me a bit apprehensive. That’s why I like tackling things on my own. I’m a bit of a solo traveler. So far, I have discovered that there are two ends of the hall and a way to travel between floors that makes my stomach lurch.
The big dumb cat had a bunch of other big dumb cats over to celebrate Halloween. Some of their fur colors were a bit strange. I was the life of the party, of course. I wasn’t a big fan of the moving spider, but I did get on the table when no one was looking and almost got a mummy dog. I think the big dumb cat felt sorry for me – she gave me one anyway.
I turned six this month. The big dumb cat said she wasn’t sure she liked me being older, so I kicked her out for a week and spent all my nights cuddled up with “the special one.” I’ve known her as long as the big dumb cat, and she takes care of me when the big dumb cat isn’t around. We’re besties. I just wished she played with me as much as she reads those books.
Another year. Some more tuna. A bunch of wrist bands. A new hammock. Too many shots. But not as many vet visits. And the biggest highlight? I discovered the wonders of catnip. My two-year-old self was missing out. Getting old isn’t half bad.