He had some fish next to him. He seemed to be dropping it into something hot, which spat grease everywhere.
I saw that he had lots of that fish. I wanted to make sure he had less work to do, and I was hungry, so I waited till he was turned away from me, then jumped up and grabbed a piece. It was salmon. Yum.
I ran away. I ate my salmon. I was happy.
I like this time of year. All humans seem happier, and I have lots of naps.
I think I'll nap quite a bit over the next few days. I may not type much. Sleep, food, attention - these things are important.
I was sleeping at the top of my favourite comfy chair. It's very tall, but I like to sleep on the top bit. I can spread out and see all of my territory.
I had my eyes half open, and my human came towards me.
I needed attention and I sensed that belly rubs may be on their way.
I stretched out my front paws, blinked, let out a squeaky meow, rolled over... and fell off the top of the chair.
I managed to sit up, quickly, and pretend that I needed to lick my shoulder clean... but why did my human not stop me rolling over? It's his fault that I fell off.
I stared at him, walked off, and went to sleep in another room.
Something occurred to me while I was dribbling on my front paws: how do humans know that something is theirs? How do they know that they own something?
I rub my face and body on chairs, table legs, doors, door frames, plant pots, cupboards - covering them in my lovely catty scent. When I sniff them, I know they're mine. They smell of me.
I've never seen my human, or any other human, do this. I've never seen my human rub his face over his bed, his computer, the table he sits at. How does he know what's his? What if another human walked in and rubbed their face on his things - he wouldn't own those things anymore.
I've tried to show him how to scent mark, but he doesn't seem to pay attention. Silly human.