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The Cat Who Wished He Was a Dog

what does the cat say? woof

By Melissa in the BluePublished 3 years ago 4 min read
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This is the third instalment in a five part series about my five pets. It is preceded by Dear Chocolate and Lady of the House. It is followed by A Dog Named Doggo and Tales of a Tasmanian Devil.

My cat has a name, Rhys, but we do not call him by his name. Instead, we call him mao, the Cantonese word for cat, or meow meow. It's almost as if we are trying to bless him with more feline tendencies, but it is futile at best—this cat wants to be a dog.

It was a dark and stormy night. Cliche, I know, but truly the setting upon which my brother found a little kitten huddling under a car, hiding from the rain. He hid him in his jacket for the entirety of his class before bringing him back to a house where cats have never been welcome. No cat had ever crossed the threshold, but Rhys did not want to be a cat.

For one, my darling little cat was too young to be well versed in the ways of cathood. He did not (and does not) know how to cleanse himself with his tongue and paw, and enjoys water to a degree that can only be considered dog like. He has a penchant for dog food and dog treats and even the dog water bowl, choosing to steal from their bowls when his own bowl of food is nearby. Also, I'm pretty sure he tries to bark sometimes—he has his long, cat-like meows, but also some very short, bark-like meows. I suspect the latter is his attempt to be more dog-like.

Rhys, greeting me when I come home

Within hours of moving in, Rhys had already decided that he wanted to be king of the hill. This tiny, fits-in-my-palm sized kitten decided to wage war with our German Shepherd mix, Chocolate. I wish I knew what these two warriors were thinking that day but Rhys faced down a foe many times his size and came out victorious after swiping at Chocolate's nose. Until Chocolate's passing, Rhys never had trouble wandering the house under his guard. In fact, Chocolate never tried to pick a fight with him again, leaving the younger dogs to fight with the cat (of which he largely won).

Catto bullying Doggo

My cat can only be described as a cat of diminishing intelligence. When he was a kitten, I would give him a small bop on his nose when he was misbehaving—trying to jump into the toilet, trying to shred my clothes, et cetera. He soon learnt to understand that a bop on the nose was a warning to stop before he would be physically removed from the situation and would begrudgingly end his misbehaviour. On the other hand, he also assumed that anyone could be bopped on the nose for misbehaviour—most importantly, I could be. So if he indicated that he wanted a door open but I refused, I got my nose bopped. If I was engrossed in a book instead of giving him attention, my nose got bopped. Such was the intelligence of my kitten that I was certain I could teach him endless tricks. He had in fact learnt some basic tricks, such as sit and high five, but alas, all good things must come to an end.

A few years later, he is what I would best consider a slightly below average creamsicle cat. All creamsicle cats share one braincell, and it appears he got to hoard it as a child. He falls off of tables, boxes, chairs, with no regard for his safety. Apparently, he isn't aware that he is falling until he has hit the ground with a thud. I know from experience that cats do not always land on their feet, because I have seen far too often him casually roll over only to find that there is no more table to support him and only air.

He is also no longer king of the hill—we adopted a larger dog, Tazzy, who does not submit to Rhys' fights. Rhys spends a lot of his time in high places, out of reach of Tazzy, only coming down when Tazzy is nowhere in sight. Or so one would think—not infrequently, Tazzy is not out of sight at all, and Rhys thudding noises from jumping down inelegantly leads Tazzy on a wild goose chase. Or perhaps he isn't being silly and simply enjoys sending Tazzy into ways of panic. He certainly does enjoy watching Tazzy get in trouble. On more than one occasion, we've watched as Rhys has gained Tazzy's attention before casually dropping forbidden toys. I suspect that perhaps Rhys is trying to frame Tazzy and get rid of him so that he can return to his peaceful existence.

Occasionally, I wake up to a slight pressure on my abdomen and find an animal on top of me. Sometimes it's a little dog who wants to lick me, but sometimes it's Rhys, staring at me with glowing eyes. In times like this I wonder if he ever did release that one brain cell, or if he has simply hidden it away so that he can mastermind an evil plan.

But truthfully, I think he did willingly abandon his brain cell for a life of luxury and belly scratches. Oh yes, for some god-forsaken reason, this cat will yowl at you for belly scratches. Did I say cat? I meant dog.

he is...very long...begging to get his belly scratched

cat
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About the Creator

Melissa in the Blue

hold my hand and we can jump straight into the cold unloving sea

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