Monday, 21 July 2014

The Kitty Letter Chronicles: The (not so) Great Outdoors

There I was, minding my own business, prowling around the apartment, spreading myself on the cool tiles, having a nap, patrolling the balcony rail, sleeping, eating, playing with stray leaves blown in by the summer breeze, grabbing a small snooze… when suddenly everything changed.

I knew something was up. 

The humans were faffing about even more than usual. Big Red was pulling clothes out of cupboards, then stuffing them back again. Dangly Man brought up new and interesting bags from the dungeon of antiquities. And Noisy Kid…   well he just basically did the same as me but with long periods in front of the box of moving images thrown in. 

I guessed something was afoot, but how was I to know what was awaiting me?

When I was bundled into a box, I didn’t complain. I went willingly into its bowels before realising that a metal bars would slam closed behind me, leaving me helpless as I was unceremoniously carried down to the metal box on wheels and subjected to an eternity of bumps and low hums. When we we eventually stopped, the humans started making idiotic noises about “holiday”, “countryside” and “freedom” as they bumped me and my box down some steps and opened it up to some strange new world.

I think I was supposed to be impressed.
I wasn't.

There are so many smells. My poor nostrils are in a state of exhaustion trying to get a handle on all the new scents assaulting them. I must have burned about a zillion calories just twitching my nose.

Then there’s the noise. Whoever it was that waxed lyrical about the pace and quiet of the countryside is a dirty, filthy liar. 
I mean, have you ever been to the Greek countryside in mid-summer? The noise NEVER stops!

All day long, armies of weird prehistoric robot-insects sit in the trees buzzing. En masse. Like some kind of weird alien tachicardiac pulse. It’s deafening. I swear I’ve only had about 19 hours sleep a day since we got here. It’s been sheer hell.

And it's not just the noisy buggers. There are all sorts of weird critters crawling around the place. 

I mean what, exactly, am I supposed to do with this? 

I’m not proud of it, but I must confess I’m ever-so slightly freaked out by it all. Outside looks nice enough, from a distance. From the safety of the right side of the window, it all looks very interesting, with enticing bits and pieces that waving gently in the breeze. 

But it's SO flippin’ big. I kid you now, it’s enormous – you genuinely cannot see the edges. Heaven alone knows what’s lurking beyond the horizon.

I’m an urban, urbane feline. I’ve only ever known the comforts of my first floor flat. And now I’m supposed to embrace the Great Outdoors? Sorry human, but… I don’t think so.

OK, I might deign to see what lies beyond the back balcony. Or file my nails on that handy tree trunk. Whilst I’m at it, I may investigate to see what exactly those weirdoes making all the noise look like (or even taste like) up close and personal. And perhaps I'll see if I can get to know that cute tabby who decided to serenade me as I sat in my moonlit glory on the windowsill last night - at least until Big Red thundered out of bed and dumped me like a sack of spuds on the floor.

But right now, I've got more pressing matters to attend to...  spreading myself on the cool tiles, having a nap. patrolling the balcony, sleeping, eating, playing with stray leaves, grabbing a small snooze.

It's tough job, but someone's got to do it.

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