Hey Suffragette Kitty fans! Friday, July 26 was my birthday! I turned 3.
The day started off like any other day despite the importance. MAD went off to work so he could pay for my cat camp and cat food and other kitty sundries. Then my publicist came over (without a gift, I should add) and mentioned something to me about “birthday shots” I’d be getting the next day.
Wow, were MAD and my pub taking me out for shots on my birthday? I have never done shooters before and was wondering how well I would tolerate snakebites, jello shots and whatever else they placed before me.
Saturday came and MAD and my pub packed me up in my camp bag. I was very excited. I was going back to Camp Fresh Pond, where I stayed when MAD and my pub were out of town. Apparently they arranged a party for me with all my new camp friends.
Camp Fresh Pond is in the back of a pet store, so I knew for sure MAD and my pub were going to buy me a live pet mouse for my birthday. I’ve been wanting one since my nemesis Nina got one. She lives in NYC, and like many other cats in the Big Apple, she gets a live pet mousie to play with every single day. Live mice often come built in with the apartments in NYC, kind of like storage and a doorman. Those NYC kitties lead the life.
But, MAD, my pub and I walked right by the live mice for sale. I said nothing because I thought maybe they already had one packaged up beautifully for me in the back, where all my camp friends were waiting in their party hats for the birthday girl to arrive.
Once in the back, however, MAD stopped at the vet, not Camp Fresh Pond. What was this? They were holding my surprise party here? Oh well, I said, just go along with it and act surprised.
I got the surprise of my life when someone in blue scrubs, followed by someone in a white coat started poking me with needles! Ouch! Were these the shots my pub was referring to? How deceptive!
I needed a few minutes to calm down from the shock of it all. There was no cake, no friends from Camp Fresh Pond and no live mouse to take home. What kind of birthday celebration was this?
I thought my pub could make some of it up to me by buying me a new dress, so I picked out this little red number from the PETCO/Martha Stewart collection. I could so rock it. But my pub didn’t agree.
“Red gingham!” she exclaimed. “You are Louisa May Alcatt, not Daisy Duke.” We agreed to wait to see if the Fall 2013 collection includes something more dignified, more fitting for a suffragette. She does not want me to be getting a reputation.
(The back story is, it’s all about money. My pub’s a little on the frugal side. The birds at PETCO saw right through her. They kept chanting, “cheap, cheap, cheap,” while she was there.)
Back at home I was beginning to feel that my birthday celebration was somewhat of a disappointment. But then MAD and my pub held me and gave me a birthday dinner of savory salmon. My pub explained later that the shots are good for me. They will keep me healthy. This is in contrast to the other kind of shots, which she last had in Chicago on her 28th birthday.
Shots may be fun at the moment, she told me, but they really put a damper on the next day. She did not want dampers on any of my days.
Tonight, she said, is the real celebration. Nanook, the big white dog downstairs, and his parents are coming to the apartment for dinner. Nanook had a birthday this week, too, so we will celebrate together. I don’t think we’ll be doing any shots, but maybe I’ll get my live mousie!!!
xo, Louisa May Alcatt