My younger sister has this cat named Rosie, and I think she may weigh five pounds soaking wet. Oh, and this feline has the entire house wrapped around her paw.
I can’t imagine why.
Now that you’ve met the duchess, I can tell you how I committed a grave error while I was crashing at my parents’ house on New Year’s Eve while Sax Guy played a gig in my hometown.
I said the ‘F’ word within earshot of Rosie. No, not that F word.
My sister and I were sitting on my parents’ couch, noshing on Swedish Fish that Mom provided, when I turned and asked my sister how she liked the fish.
Immediately little blue lasers bored into my person, pupils fully dilated. I was so taken aback that I forgot what I had asked for a second of time.
“Um, what exactly did I do?” I asked my sister, stuttering.
“You dropped the F word!” she snickered.
“I did not! I don’t even say that word.” I rebutted.
“No, not the F bomb,” she replied. “El pescado, Le poisson, fish!”
The cat is still staring at me with an intensity I’ve never seen before in my life from an animal. I don’t think she even blinked.
Then I was schooled in the law of the land with the cat, who apparently gets a helping of salmon pretty frequently and knows the word “fish” well. So, the cat got some fish and the kingdom was at peace until my mom committed the sin of sitting in “The Chair.”
Before I visit again, I need to learn the laws here or there’s no living with the cat. My sister provided me with the “Rules of the Rosie” for my study:
“1. If someone says fish, there’d better be fish. Merely mentioning the f word will send the Rosie into an overexcited fit. But beware; dropping the f bomb and delivering no salmon goodness will result in several hours of intense, hateful glaring.
2. No one may take ‘The Chair.’ Trespassing on the chair will result in a three day sulk-fest and more glaring. Note: My mom was sitting in “The Chair” that night I was there. The part about the three day sulk-fest is true!
3. It’s gotta be salmon. No other meat will suffice. All ham, turkey, beef, chicken, or cheese products will be ignored.
4. Trail mix is ok. Not her favorite, but edible. Cashews are particularly good.
5. Faux fur is unpleasant to sit on.
6. Microfiber cloths and mesh clothes baskets are endless sources of entertainment.
7. Straw papers are scary.”
Rosie was found at my grandparents’ farm on the barn floor shortly after her birth about four years ago. It appeared that her mama abandoned her, so my sister bottle fed this white fuzzball and nursed her back to health. We actually had to schedule parts of my wedding rehearsal around the cat because my sister had to return home every few hours to feed her.
Maybe it was a case of “spare the rod and spoil the child” as she grew, but now that Rosie has grown she has discovered that she rules the roost. She is a house cat now because she decided long ago that my parents’ outdoor cats are scary, terrorizing beasts. They’re not, but when you’re so small, I can see why the boys outside would be scary.
Wanna see what the face looks like when the word “fish” is uttered?