Right now the outside temperature is eight degrees and my cat is pissed off because he's stuck indoors. This is a sorry state of affairs for both of us since the burden of responsibility falls on me to keep him amused. It's an almost impossible task. Lurch hates cat toys, rolling his eyes each time I bring another one home. Predictably, he inspects the offending article -- a catnip-stuffed mouse, a glittery ball with a bell inside, a clump of feathers on the end of a stick -- for about 30 seconds before walking away in disgust. The rest of the time he guilt-trips me by planting himself at the front door, sighing audibly or muttering under his breath (but I can hear him anyway), "This sucks," or even worse, "She sucks."
Pet ownership is the closest thing to slavery that is still legal. Besides subjecting them to long periods of solitary confinement, we deny them the joys of procreation, decide who their friends are, when and what they eat, how often and where they relieve themselves, and in the very worst cases, what clothes they wear. That last thing is beyond horrific and should truly be outlawed, although I confess to putting a sweater on our last dog, a miniature Schnauzer, whenever I walked him in frigid temperatures. (He was always mortified, despite my explaining it was for his own good.)
If only cats could read, winter could be a time of great learning for Lurch. Instead, the seemingly interminable months of boredom dampen his natural curiosity. I've tried leaving the TV on for him but he barely lifts an eyebrow, and who could blame him? The truth is I would do almost anything to make him happy, but I've drawn the line at stocking our house with birds and mice.
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