Lou’s Secret Leprechaun Plan
I am a white cat.
I am a sleek, handsome white cat.
I am a lithe, fast, big and dangerous white cat.
I am also a tolerant, mostly benign white cat. But I’m getting very tired of these holidays you humans have that involve strange little beastie-things that invade my space and cause me to lose my cool.
I kinda get the February one with the bitey brown critter that lives in the ground, ‘though I don’t understand why you all want to wake him up from a nice winter nap and haul him out into the cold, but at least he seems pretty cranky about it and sometimes bites the human who’s messing with him. He can protect himself. And I almost get the old fart with his scythe and timepiece and the baby in the diapers who troop past each other at the beginning of January - most years they wander through my castle – uh, that is, the clinic – when I’m having a nice nap, and don’t bother me, unless they stop to talk about stuff before going their separate ways. (The old fart is sometimes drinking, and singing about auld lang syne, whatever that is. I’ve given him a whack a few times to speed him on his way.) But the Jolly Old St. Bernard in December, and the little annoying flying thing with its sharp arrow claw in February are really too much. They always get in my face, and I always get reprimanded by Ms Bossy Pants or The Enforcer if I try to smack ‘em down. And now, we’re about to have a visit from that green miniature human-like thing that shows up mid-March, with his rainbow that shines so brightly it wakes me up, and his pot full of Greenies that he taunts me with and never hands over. If that weren’t bad enough, he sings Irish songs all night long and keeps me awake. His accent is so strong I can’t even understand the words. It’s annoying.
So I’ve got a plan, this year, and I’m pretty sure it’ll work. I’ll tell you about it as long as you promise not to tell Ms BP, The Enforcer, or the New Guy, who can be a major buzz-kill when he feels like it. You’d think he’d support a fellow bro, but he’s a dog person, and you know what that means...
Anyway, I have my new glorious bed, and I’ve been hairing it regularly to make it whiter. I kind of disappear into it, if I don’t stretch my elegant legs and tail out full length, but curl up into a smallish ball instead. My plan is to hide myself in my bed – I should be mostly invisible – after the servants here – uh, that is, the highly-trained veterinary professionals – go home for the night. Then I’ll sprinkle a lure on the edge of the bed, so the little green man will come to me and I can GET him when he’s least expecting it, and most importantly, snatch the pot of Greenies away from him!
The lure, I think, should be green – the annoying little singer seems to like green – so I could use Greenies, if I can manage to save a few from the tiny allowance Ms Bossy Pants lets me have. Well, maybe not. Maybe I’ll just work a little catnip into the edge of the bed – it’s green, and who can resist catnip?
I’ll be all hunched up into a tight white fighting machine, and while he’s sniffing the catnip lure, I’ll smack him across the room with one paw and jump onto the pot o’ Greenies with the other. Then I’ll bite the blasted rainbow, and with any luck the little man will go away. If he doesn’t, I can stay put on top of the pot o’ Greenies until morning, even if it means I have to listen to Danny Boy over and over all night long.
I’ll know I’ve nearly made it when he starts screeching The Parting Glass. If he won’t go without his pot, I bet The Enforcer will chase him out in the morning. She’ll probably think his singing is squeaking and he’s a mouse. The Enforcer can be handy to have around if she doesn’t know what I’m up to!
So don’t tell her – I’m counting on you.
In the meantime, Erin go bragh!