My Cat, Houdi, Does it Again

Get ready to meet the best debater in the history of the feline universe. (Part 6)

Why does my cat Houdi always win our debates?

Why, oh why?

Her steely stares when she realizes I'm cornering her with a reasonable argument are better than nothing, I guess. But does she ever say, "Daddy, you are so right..."

She does not. And why the hell not? What's so wrong with accepting defeat in a debate? That's basic human common sense in my book! Oh, yeah...she's, she's a CAT. 

A cat. These little feline monsters have been spoiled rotten. Adored by the Egyptians, Syrians, East Asians, Mongolians, Queens and Kings from Europe and civilizations that haven't yet come to pass.

I get it. They are ancient. But aren't we ancient too? My cat, Houdi, says, ”No. You're just old.”

She one-ups me with sarcasm and cynicism bordering on cruelty. It's elder abuse, is what it is.

And when I have guests over, it's even worse and horribly embarrassing. I'm her hapless victim. I can't do anything right. 

My friends, my guests, become dull and glassy-eyed under her spell. I try to serve tea as their eyes all follow her, only her. What is she doing anyway? Nothing. Cat stuff. Why should they care?

"Helloo...l say, waving an assortment of cheese, crackers and crudites before their eyes... Nothing.

l am only in the way. They brush me aside with frustration that turns to hostility when l continue in my attempts to entertain them. I am wrong again, wrong for interrupting their unblinking feline fixation.

"Cupcakes!" I announce, "l made them myself!" I lie. But what can l do?  

"Can't l offer her a treat?" asks Julian, my buddy from travels--since we were teens. 

"Don't you have treats for her?" he demands.

"Fresh Hash Cupcakes anyone? Caviar?" I stutter...

"Oh yes," says Julian’s wife, Melissa, with enthusiasm. "Caviar!"

At last, a genuine human response! 

"I'm sure Houdi would love some..." Melissa squeaks in mouse tones, pitched two octaves above her natural speaking voice. "Wouldn't you, sweet sweet kitty-kins? Will she eat it out of my hand?"

"Um, l was kidding there... l don't really have caviar. I was just..."

"Oh, you monster!" Melissa retorts! "After you promised her! Taunting an innocent kitten like that!  I'm sooo sorry, little puss...you can come visit me. I will keep mean daddy-cat's promise and give you caviar..."

Scornful looks at me from my guests all around. Then, all eyes back on Princess Houdi, as she teases Melissa with a slight nudging caress against her bare calf. Very slight.

"Oh, she is soooo silky, so soft..." Melissa purrs.

"That is because l don't feed her caviar. I give her the highest protein cat food money can buy...because she's...well, she's a CAT!" I venture.

"How dare you!" barks Melissa back at me, in darker tones. 

My neighbour Kelly, who l sort of have a crush on, pipes up,  huffing, "Cruel promises indeed!

And then, lamentations all around. All of them. A chorus of them, crying "Poor, sweet, sweet, kitten...poor lovely baby kitten..."

So you see...

Houdi has masterfully worked the room again, to my demise. She rules the evening by just standing, or walking slowly one way, standing. Walking back the other way. Standing. And I'm left battered and shut. 

Eventually, my guests prepared to leave. "But what about dinner?" I cry. "l made fresh-grilled Tilapia for dinner..."

This is true. But, no one can hear me. My guests are well over me. They are going. Every one. Not even a thank-you. 

A self-satisfied Houdi sees each of them out; all these backstabbing dogs slobbering all over her.

I am left with cold tea.

I get a door prize, though. To my happy astonishment, Julian calls to invite me for cocktails at their place next Friday. I am so thankful. Maybe l didn't bomb so badly after all. 

"Oh" he adds, "and it's a plus one..." He tries to make it sound like an afterthought, "Melissa wants Houdi to..." 

I put the phone down on the coffee table while he was still speaking. I conceded defeat in my head, as usual. 

Soon, l am alone again, with soothing music still playing in the background. Houdi glances at me while licking herself proudly and mumbles, 

“The fish was overdone anyway”. 

Then she continues her grooming like nothing else matters...

Maybe nothing else does matter. What do l know anymore?

Houdi effortlessly leaps to the sofa to peruse my dejected form. Does she snuggle against me, or sit in my lap to console me? No. She merely continues her bathing in closer proximity. 

I'm not buying it.

I turn off the music and head for my computer.

"So glad your friends are gone. Now I can have you all to myself," she says with a smirk. 

And that gets me thinking...Maybe it's me that is too critical. After all, didn't I invite my friends for a soireé of entertainment? Could I have done better than Houdi in that pursuit? Were my friends pleased with the visit? 

Yes. No. Yes. 

Hmmm…

Ok, what about being the butt of her funnies? Wasn't that kind of embarrassing? Hmm, To whom? Isn't self-deprecation one of the best forms of humour? 

My EGO wasn't pleased and wanted payback. Revenge. Sweet revenge …So, instead of picking an argument with Houdi, I faced my real tormentor. 

Me: “Ok, genius, how do you punish a cat?" 

Ego: “Don't feed her treats for a week!" 

Me: “Are you insane? She'll threaten me with escape! Then what?” 

Ego: “You get a nicer cat" 

Me: What!!? Get Out! Out! Out!!

The moral of that exchange: Never listen to bad advice from your ego. 

The evening ends as they all do, Houdi purring on my arm. Me on my computer as I try to write this story. 

Nope. I can't ever win, but love always does.

~∆~

I'll see you next time around.

Love and light. 🗽❤️

René