Cats on Tuesday: Mike's Made it Big Time

Mike's life changed again when I moved the sofa from its winter position to its summer position beneath the windows. Which happens to be Gretchen's very favorite place to do her window gazing from, and be comfortable at the same time. Last time we talked, Mike had come out of his dark little corner between the sofa and the wall, and had entered Gretchen's world. The top of the sofa. Shortly thereafter, I moved the sofa and offered Mike a new bed. He chose a wicker basket that had just been lying about as a catchall, and I lined it with a little, blue fleece baby blanket that I had gotten at Walgreen's for a buck for Gretchen, one that she's never placed a paw on.

So, "Hey, Mike!" I said, "how about this blanket to line your basket?" He was so excited about his new niche that I swear he squeezed his eyes together like a normal cat and purred. I put his new basket on the floor in front of the TV. He seemed a little teary eyed that I had given him such a place of prominence, but I couldn't be sure. It's not something I really want to admit, you know, that I carry on this imaginary conversation with a stuffed, toy cat. Well, I left the room to do some gardening; Gretchen had already taken up residence at the end of the sofa on her purple and green quilt. Mike was happily dozing in his basket.

Then it happened, I had fallen in the garden and smashed my face and glasses against the sidewalk. My right arm and hand took a good twisting, not to mention every muscle in my body. This new twist in my life made it hard for me to do the ordinary chores around the apartment for a while. Happily everything has healed nicely now, but I owe it all to Mike.

Gretchen is a sweet, princess of a cat, and I love her dearly, but she is becoming more spoiled as the days go by. She felt sorry for my woes and gave me a look of sympathy, a look of "don't worry, I'm there for you." I couldn't quite make out her cat talk, but it sounded like she said that White Kitten, Zoo Kitty, Beanie Kitty, and Mike, all of them together, would keep the place nice and tidy. Before we go any further, no, the pain pills did not pack that much of a wallop. Of course, I let Gretchen be in charge of the toy cleanup. But you have to remember, she's the one who's game it is to "watch-me-throw-the ball/mouse-pick-it-up-and-throw-it-again." Okay, so I was a little woozy by now and went to bed.

For several days later, when I got up in the morning and stumbled my way into the living room on the way to the kitchen, there was not a thing out of place. No yarn twisted around the dining room chair legs, no crumpled wads of paper strewn about, no furry, fake mice, not even one of the new batch of pink plastic golf balls left out to step on. I mean the room was actually in better shape than when I'd left it the night before.
Okay, I was only on pain pills for a couple of days, it has now been weeks and today I finally sat down and asked Gretchen what's been going on. Her royal highness just yawned in my face and mumbled something that sounded like, "The hired help took care of everything," then she rolled over, closed her eyes, and wouldn't comment any further. Out of curiosity I turned to Mike. "Okay, Mike," I said, "Spill it. What's been going on?" I heard White Kitten chuckle. Mind you White Kitten has nothing but fiberfill in her head. But, then I heard Zoo Kitty, and even Beanie Kitty chuckle, too. Or at least I thought I did.

Mike could see I was getting a little spooked, so he did that thing with his eyes, squeezed them shut, then transmitted his thoughts to my mind. I'm not sure if I'm just getting used to him doing that or if it freaks me out even more, but he told me that Gretchen had hired the "Cat Crew" to keep the place tidy. On account of my hurt hand and all. Only Gretchen didn't do anything; she was always off Catloafing somewhere. White Kitten, Zoo Kitty, and Beanie Kitty never left their beds, so Mike was left all to himself to help me out. Incredible as it was, I had to ask, "What did Gretchen promise you if you did all the work?"

Mike blushed, looked around the room, seeing that he was alone, replied to my mind, "Employee of the Month!"

"That's it!" I stammered, "You did all the work, and all you get is a title?"

Mike squeezed his eyes together again, "Oh, no," he cried with happiness, "I got a sweater and cap to wear, a certificate from the Queen of Domesticity, and a neat little ribbon to pin on my sweater for a whole month."

I could barely believe what I had just heard, or thought I heard, no one hears Mike talking to me, but me. "Uh, where'd you get the sweater and cap?" I thought I'd better ask.

"Gretchen told me that since you put all the sofa bears away in a big black plastic bag, in the storage unit, for the summer, that I could choose one of their sweaters, whichever one I liked best, for my hard work."

"Really," I said, however, I wanted to ask how they got the sweater out of the craft drawer to begin with, but decided I didn't want to know anymore details. Then Mike climbed out of his basket, revealing the orange and yellow, stripped sweater and matching cap he had hidden underneath. "I liked this color the best," he beamed. "I thought it would show up best against my black fur in the picture. "What picture?" I smiled, already knowing where he was going with this. "Why, the one you're going to take and post on the web, of course," he smiled, there was no mistaken the twinkle in his glassy eyes now. "But I need you to put the sweater on me," he continued, "that's kind of hard for me to do."

By now Gretchen was at my feet, dancing her little "love me" jig, winding her furry little body between my legs, purring loudly. I didn't know if I wanted to throttle her for using her little friends the way she did, or pick her up and squeeze her for having the thought to hire the help I needed when I was hurting. So here it is folks. The Queen of Domesticity, aka, Gretchen, and her only right hand man…er…cat…stuffed toy…whatever, Mike the Mysterious, needing my help to complete there little game.

It amazes me sometimes at how much they know about me. How much is real to me, and how far to take my imagination. Whoever they are, they have good hearts, even if one of them has a heart filled with fluff.

Mike sent one last thought my way, but I turned on him and scolded him, "Mike, I do not want to start hearing thoughts from White Kitten, Zoo Kitty, and Beanie Kitty…that's just too much for me to handle." DBB