Misha here, if you haven’t figured it out yet. Today is International Women’s Day so I’d like to wish all of you women out there a very happy day. Well it’s ending here, but I just hope it was happy for you. Zofijka says that on 10th March men have their special day and then September 30th is for boys to celebrate. And that presented me with a very serious dilemma… Who am I? Am I a man or a boy? I think I am a man, because I am strong, can catch and kill flies and spiders and all the meat you know so that the women won’t panic, I’m their hero, they say I’m handsome and Mila and Zofijka like to sleep with me. I am 3 years old which is 30 for humans. I am very intelligent and serious and brave and know a lot of things about humans that they don’t even know and even more about cats. But then they always call me “cute boy”, “little boy”, “cheeky boy” and so on and so forth as to suggest that I am a child, a boy. Only a boy. They say how small I am, make all the decisions for me and treat me like a baby. Sometimes I like it, because I get all I want and they like me so much because I’m so cute, I can pulate people to get what I want, they say I am a real pulator because I don’t say anything yet everyone is doing what I want them to do, and that’s apparently pulative. Or however they call it. but sometimes it drives me crazy though when they treat me like a baby, and I hate being so small sometimes. Then there are people who think I am a girl: “Oh God, isn’t she such a lovely kitty?!”. Why does everyone think Misha is a girl’s name only when it’s originally for guys? Well Mila says so but I believe her. I hate being called “she”, I am not a Michelle! My peeps hate it too though so they always defend me. I remember that when I went to the vet and they removed my bits the vet said jokingly to Zofijka: “So now, your cat is no longer a he, it’s an it”. I was mad at him. But luckily my peeps don’t think so, that wasn’t funny at all, I’m not a thing. If I were feeling better then, I would scratch him, but I was too dizzy and wobbly. Luckily I didn’t have to see him again.
Can I be both a man and a boy or do I have to choose one? Or can I choose anything at all? Or maybe it’s just all up to me who I want to be, I just need to pulate others to believe it too? Maybe it’s only reserved for humans and I have to be just a cat. But being a man or a woman must be so fun, you can have another special day for yourself. While I have only two, my birthday and World Cat Day. When is World Human day, by the way, does anyone know? And there’s yet another aspect of those men’s and women’s days. You get flowers! Well, at least women seem to do. I guess men don’t like flowers for some reason, which is a shame, because they smell so nice and you can bite in them, in their leaves, or pick them, and it’s so much fun, I love it. They probably just don’t know what’s really good. I love flowers though, so, it’s so unfair that I don’t get them! I’ve never got flowers! From anyone! Even a single, tiniest flower! It’s so sad. i live in this world for three years and they’ve never found a good enough occasion to give me a flower. Moreover,if someone gets them, they are jealous! I come close to relish the smell, the fresh taste of leaves, or the earthy taste of the water in the flowerpot, and they shout at me: “misha! Go away from there! It’s not for you! Are you a herbivore or what?!”. So what if I am? They can eat anything, even some awfully smelling, greasy stuff that they call fries that makes the whole kitchen more smelly than my litter box, and no one tells them off. And they tell me off just because they think I should eat meat. I tell you, they’re just jealous about their flowers. I bet that when I can’t see they do the same and bite into them, just don’t want to share with me! But if they got me my own flowers, there won’t be any problem. I’d have my own flowers and wouldn’t share with them, and they’d have their own and I wouldn’t care, there would be peace. Even if I broke my pot, it would be mine so they wouldn’t have to care. The bad thing is that when I sometimes get too absorbed with flowers and eat too much of this delicacy when no one sees I get sick, but, to me, that’s a very small price.
I am generally an optimist though, and always like to be hopeful. Dad was going out somewhere in the morning, and then I saw him coming back with bunches of flowers. My heart was jumping up high with excitement as I awaited, that, maybe this time, I’ll get my very own flowers. At least a little, very little one flower. They smelled so stunningly and sweetly, they were hyacinths. But there were none for me. There is such a Polish proverb that hope is the mother of fools, it seems to be very right. But I told myself that maybe not all is lost. After a few hours, the door bell rang. It was Mila’s and Zofijka’s uncle stopping by, and again, I could feel the smell of flowers, and my heart jumping cheerfully. I deluded myself that because Mum and Zofijka were out, maybe one bunch of these tulips will be for me. But nope. Not happening. Stupid jerks. And as if it wasn’t enough, Olek came back from work a few hours ago with roses. I didn’t know that, I was sleeping deeply when he came, dreaming about pots full of hyacinths and tulips and fresh water and a kind human being encouraging me: “Misha, don’t be so shy, it’s for you, why won’t you take a sip of water to see how it tastes?”. After I woke up, I went to Mila’s room and saw that she had a pot with roses on her desk. I came closer very gently not wanting to knock them over, and Mila shouted at me that I’m a very naughty and stupid Misha and should stop sniffing all the flowers in the house like a freak, and took me away from them.
So, I guess I should give up all my hope. But, I am hopeful, that maybe on the 10th, maybe, just maybe, I’ll wake up to see a bunch of flowers only for me Misha.
Best Mishes to all of you lovely pets and peeps.
Misha. 💜 💙 💚