Wednesdays Are Still Cats' Days!

 

            So Willie jumped up on the desk extension and tapped me politely on the elbow, with just the tips of his claws out-for emphasis. I knew I may as well pay attention to him, or I’d never hear the end of it.
            “What’s on your fuzzy little mind, Wilfred,” I said.
            “The main thing, and we want you to know this, is that every seventh day, starting tomorrow, is Cats’ Day,” he announced.
            “So, you claim Wednesdays?” I said. “Didn’t we already have some kind of Cats’ Day discussion. I think I remember something like that.”
            “See, that’s it exactly. We think you could do better to celebrate us on this Wednesday business. We don’t know why you pinkies name days, but you do, so there’s that,” said Willie.
            “Did the rest of them send you to complain, Willie?”
            “They all know you listen to me!” he said, complacently.
            “Tell you what, I’ll write it on the calendar. And, you can have butter on Wednesdays, and I’ll write stories about you guys once a week. I’ll publish all your little concerns.”
            “We like butter, and that mackerel you were eating the other day,” said Willie.
            “Don’t push your luck, Mr. Chubs,” I told him.
            “Mrrrp?”
            “Yeah, mrrrp yourself,” I giggled. He looked at me with shiny eyes. Full of confidence, he was.
            “Alright, Mr. Envoy, what else is bugging you little predators?”
            “Well. You asked. Funny names. It isn’t respectful to give lions funny names!” said Willie.
            “None of you, except Mr. Baby Sir, have funny names. What’s the prob.? Well, maybe Skinnies, but that’s not my doing!”
            “Oh, Mr. Baby loves his name!” said Willie. “He loves hearing people say it!”
            “I don’t think you have a problem. You just want attention, doncha, Baby?” I said.
            “I do, but this is serious. You named a cat Candida. One you called Diagonal! What the heck? You called one poor girl Botulism? Why?” cried Willie.
            “Those were different times, Willie. That was a long time ago. Things were different then. I can hardly remember what that girl was thinking about. I’m not likely to change your name to anything weird. You’re safe. Even the next kitten is probably safe,” I said.
            “Where do you even get these names? Like Sleeky Sue? Come on?” he said.
            “Well, the old timers used to say that they had a “muse.” This was usually a chick..”
            “A chicken?” said Willie.
            “No, a female spirit or something that gave him his ideas or maybe just inspired him to write in some mysterious masculine process..” I wandered off, thinking. Then I said, “Names just come out the air or something. I need a name for a character and there it is, all ready to use!”
            “Lady, that is the weirdest excuse for naming a cat something random that I have ever heard,” announced Willie. “Why not just admit that you do it on purpose?”
            “Oh, ho ho, now you’re getting into the weeds, Cat,” said I.
            “What do you mean?” he cried.
            “It’s a matter of authority. Where does purpose come from? If I do a thing, whose purpose is it, anyhow? It might not even be my purpose. Did you ever think about that?” I inquired. “Maybe a Greater Hand is directing my path! Hey? What about that?”
            “You’re making my head feel funny, Lady. When I say you did it on purpose I mean you set out to come up with a funny name for a cat and you cooked one up,” he said.
            “That’s possible too,” I said, and scrunched his ears a little so his head would feel better. “Do you know what your whole name is?”
            “No. I thought I was Willie,” he said. “Brrrrt?”
            “It’s Way Out Willie. We named you for a guy who danced with his hands!”
            “I rest my case!” he crowed. “That’s plain weird.”
            “Teehee, we thought it was cute. Suzy’s whole name is Suzy Q, or maybe Suzy Creamcheese. It’s hard to remember now. It’s been nine years!” I said. “Cat, you’re so blessed that we didn’t name you some of those things that Irish Mountain Hare got called. You have no idea! They were, um, earthy, in the extreme. So rest easy, Butterball!”
            “So, do we have a deal, Lady? Butter on Wednesdays, and a little more respect?” said Willie.
            “Sure, Willie. We got a deal,” I said.
            “I’ll remind you by doing that goofy pose you think is so cute,” he said. “The one where I expose my belly and fold my paws and look sort of brainless!”
            “That’ll work,” I said, seriously laughing now. “When I see a cat’s belly exposed I’m bound to think ‘that there cat needs some butter’!”
            I guess he must have delivered his message to his satisfaction because he hopped down off of my desk and went out to just check on the buffet. He’s a very busy cat with a lot of responsibilities.

🧡

Mrrrrp!