I haven’t tortured cat-haters with sordid tales about our girls recently, but that’s only because I’ve been busy helping them set up a business. Yes, you read that correctly, and my husband, Dwight, and I are indeed proud.
At just 1 1/2 years of age, our resident entrepreneurs – sometimes known as Butterfield and Iris – have launched (drum roll, please) the Field & Iris Detective Agency.
I have agreed to manage their caseload, so if you require their services, please give me a shout. Ms. Field and Iris (who, like Cher, refuses to use a last name) are simply too overwhelmed to deal with humans directly. (Why, just now I can hear mad galloping on the main floor of the house, back and forth, back and forth. The girls are clearly on the job. I may have to rush through this post so I can do some investigations of my own.)
Now, it’s best if your sleuthing requirements involve tracking down elastic bands, dried leaves, gift bags, bits of ribbon, or dust bunnies, but the girls’ repertoire expands daily.
That’s why this year’s seasonal décor did not include a Christmas tree at our house. Sometimes the girls expand their repertoire without consulting their manager. Dwight and I tested décor possibilities by placing just a few brave ornaments here and there. Those hanging in upper windows were studied from afar, but the ornaments on the fireplace mantel – where the cats never go – were frisked within hours.
We feared a tree would trigger a full-fledged insurrection – “FREE THE ORNAMENTS!” – an insurrection best mounted in the wee hours of the morning.
So the bulk of our ornaments stayed in storage this year as we perfected a minimalist theme that would have made Marie Kondo proud. Admittedly, our approach did elicit laments from certain special house guests. They said they missed the tree, but I think it was more that they feared a possible onslaught of aging dottiness, especially when we insisted all gifts be stashed in the laundry room until Christmas Day.
Maybe things will be different next year. After all, we have noticed the girls have added lengthy catnaps to their daily workload. Except when duty calls, of course, and they slink around the dining room windowsill to spy on the neighbours or jam their cheeks against the patio door, craning their little necks upward in an effort to solve that age-old mystery: Where do snowflakes come from?
And there’s no chance they will nap through their raison d’être, their 5 a.m. mission to GET THE HUMANS OUT OF BED.
Such work ethic. Always intent on purr-fection. Always paws-atively brilliant. Always sharpening their … skills. Always eager to pounce on new opportunities. Please give us a shout – even if it’s just to say meow!