Do you ever wish you were a cat?
Would you like a life that entails sleeping all day on the back of a cushy couch, basking in the sunlight and playing mental games with a gullible dog? You wouldn’t even have to hunt for your food. Someone will dish it up for you twice a day, all you have to do is walk to the bowl and meow and people will come running like well trained servants.
The only thorn in your paradise would be those pesky humans. Even well trained as they are, they’re barely tolerable with all their picture taking, snuggling and what not.
But they do bring the food and clean up the whoopsies.
I often look at this funny cat and wonder what she did in a past life to land this gig.
Was she a nun? Did she save a small child from disaster? Maybe she invented sliced bread?
What do I need to do in order to ensure a cat’s gig on the next life-go-round (if you believe in that kind of thing—not sure that I do but it’s fun to ponder, yes?)
Ah, to be a cat. Not a bad life from what I can see. And how uber lucky of them—they get nine of ’em.