The Wrath of a Woman to the Power of n

A stern superior business consultant barks: “Why did you slap the client’s logo onto the background like that?” when the sacrifice of the logo was not your doing.

Your boss huffily asks: “Why did you send a quote when they asked for other information?” when your boss had in fact misread the request.

An elderly family member chides: “Who do you think you are rocking up in that outfit, this is high tea not a hag party?!” when all the other young girls are wearing hankies as entire dresses.

 

You’d think you’d need a holiday after that kind of continued, misunderstood questioning. They are all pretty uncomfortable and yet all seem to come out pie when compared to the most awful put down one could ever get – The Cold Shoulder From Your Cat.  I will plead my case.

 

I was in a major car accident a while ago and my car was written off.  No bones were broken or fractured but I was tender in my face and chest from the kick of the air bag.  My eardrum was swollen from a burst passenger airbag.  Shins were bruised from goodness knows what and the spinal column was out of sorts with the surrounding muscles angry with me.

 

Flat on my back for about a week, I was overwhelmed by bouts of emotional waves which rendered me sad, teary and more or less a mess.

 

Throughout my recovery, my little cat knew that something was wrong.  LuLu, our little rescue lapcat, was particularly nurturing and mothering towards me.  Her concern left her whiskers up my nose every two minutes.  It also implied a regular chest pummeling as she kneaded my aches and pains.  Her concern also meant that she sacrificed some of her daily activity to tend to the improvement of my general well being.

 

Unfortunately, in the history of all bad timing, at the end of that long week of suffering, we had a week-end getaway planned.  I slowly packed a small bag and practically lay the way to Sun City.

 

Now, I’m not sure if little LuLu thought my disappearance meant I had died in spite of her best efforts to revive me, or perhaps she thought I was a tad ungrateful of her care for me.  Whatever went on in her mind, she was not impressed with me when I sailed through the front door that next Monday morning.  She outright ignored me in fact.  Unperturbed whether I was a zombie or well, I could go and jump as far as she was concerned.  The extent of her anger was such that whenever I picked her up she would issue forth a pained meeauw.  She swiped at me with claws umpteen times – leaving scabs to form where once she had licked soothingly.

 

The only thing LuLu wanted from me for a good four days was food.  No tickles behind the ears, no paw shaking and definately no dancing with me.  My partner, of course, was in no bad books.  He was allowed such luxuries as scratching the cat without the lady protesting one stitch.  She even looked at him once, while I was left in the shadow of the petite, silky shoulder of dear LuLu.

 

I found myself questioning this notion of taking a short, much needed week-end getaway once in a while.  Was a break from city life really worth it if it upsets the kitty so darn much? Perhaps being scolded for doing something that you didn’t do was worth swallowing and getting on with it without upsetting the apple cart.

 

😉 P

Tip: Whatever you do, don’t make your cat mad.

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