Welcome to Life with Lizzie: a new weekly feature here at Frankly, My Dear . . .
You know me. I’m Lizzie Cat. I’m the oldest of five at Catford Manor. Now that the Human Sister has grown up and moved out, Mom is left alone with us. She calls us her FurFamily and I guess that’s right. I mean, we are family. And we are furry.
Does that make her a Crazy Cat Woman?
I’m her favorite. I know this because she tells me. Oh, she loves Berry Sunshine, Little, Sparkles and Iris just as much. But different. Mom and I? We have a bond. I’m her favorite, and she’s mine.
I steal her stuffed animals when she’s not looking. I don’t hide them or anything. I just claim them for my own. C’mon. . . she leaves all day and they’re just sitting there. Out in the open. Someone has to snuggle with them. Am I right?
She calls me her writing partner. I like that. I like when she’s got a great idea, how excited and animated she gets. I like that she leans over and kisses me (but don’t tell her that). Mostly I love sleeping next to her. She complains that she can’t get any work done that way, but I think that’s a lie. She always manages to do just fine.
Mom’s different since the Human Sister left. Sometimes she’s sad, so my sisters and I sit closer to her. She doesn’t cry much but I think she wants to.
Sometimes she’s happy. She dances more. Not in any particular pretty rhythm. But she does okay when she thinks no one is watching. She turns on the big black screen and it thumps. Loud. I don’t like that, and try to tell her so but she doesn’t listen so I just go to the other room until it’s over. She sings, too. Loud. I do like that, for the most part. We used to sing together but that was years ago.
She doesn’t eat at home as often. I guess I don’t mind because I don’t eat her food anyway, but Berry Sunshine is a little sad because she likes licking the plates. Mom’s friend Tania brought pepperoni pizza the other night, and we all took turns eating the crumbs. It was pretty good. I think Mom should have people like Tania over more often.
On the weekends, sometimes, she lets me go play in the yard. I like to roll around in the sand because it’s nice and cool, but when I come in she yells at me for getting the coffee table dirty. But she was the one who opened the door! See? A bit crazy there, I think.
She talks to herself once in a while. Or to people who aren’t there. When she’s writing, she yells at her computer. She calls it Babycakes which is strange because it’s not a baby and none of us can eat it. She pets it, too, which I can’t imagine being comfortable. It has no fur.
My favorite part of the day is bedtime. I can always when it’s time because she folds up her silver Babycakes, grabs her bottle of water and slips her flip-flops on before walking back to the bedroom. As soon as she sits up straighter from the recliner, I know all those other things are about to happen so I always try to race her to the bed. If I get to the pillow before she does, I make her scrunch her neck and shoulders around me. Once I’m settled, I’m settled. It’s her fault for staying up later than me, right?
Uh-oh. Looks like Mom’s getting ready to go in now. I better get there before she does, or else I’ll have to find a spot at the foot of the bed.
I’ll be back next week with more stories about Mom and my sisters.
Until then, have a mewwy great week!
And Frankly, My Dear . . . that’s all she wrote!