Posts Tagged ‘Best Friend’

Love Bites

Tuesday, December 30th, 2008

Many years ago, I was floundering in a melancholy pool of sadness. Ever been there? Each new day brought a fresh dump of disappointment, dashed hopes, and dreams crushed. My best friend, Sunday the Cat, watched me carefully and knew something was very wrong. My voice was different, my actions weren’t the same, and I shuffled without energy through the daily motions of life. Sunday became very concerned.

If you’ve ever been owned by a cat, you know exactly what I mean. Even nutso cats like Sunday have more sensitivity in one paw than Conservative Republicans can scrape up in an entire lifetime. I don’t care what you say – they KNOW.

One night I came home, walked into the bedroom, barely acknowledged Sunday who was sleeping on my pillow, sat at the foot of my bed, and began to cry – loudly. Reality had beaten me into a bloody pulp once again.

Suddenly, without warning, Sunday flew across the bed and bit me on the back of my arm – HARD! I jumped up enraged!

“YOU STUPID CAT! YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BITE YOUR PERSON! YOU……”

But Sunday didn’t run like she normally did after pulling a sneak attack. She just sat there, looked at me, and tilted her head to the side. In an instant I knew what she was trying to say.

Sunday didn’t want to see me suffering. She hated me crying. She wanted me to stop – but what could she do? She did the first thing that came to her mind. It wasn’t the most eloquent bit of communication – but I never remember anyone saying anything that was more effective.

When I picked up Sunday to take her to the kitchen for her albacore tuna, I was still crying and laughing and I hugged her extra hard. She pretended not to notice.

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Want to read the BEST Sunday story? Go to

“Sunday the Cat vs. Hannah the Stripper”

https://presentationsunplugged.com/blog/?p=4

Sunday Went to Heaven (Part 1)

Tuesday, July 15th, 2008

Sunday the Cat at a Ribbon Party – circa: 1990’s.

One day a middle-aged, formerly-fit writer died of acute cerebral boredom. When he opened his eyes, he was in a lush, manicured park with fountains – and grass so perfect it made a golf course look like the crummiest lawn on your street. Suddenly, he saw a ball of orange and white fur running towards him as fast as she could.

“SUNDAY!”, he cried. He picked up his most-loved pet and hugged her dearly.

“Jeez! It sure took you long enough to get here!”

The man whirled around to see who had spoken. The marmalade Cat rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Of course I can talk! Can you leap 5-times your height? I knew you weren’t getting any smarter down there – but Jeez!”

The writer laughed. “Same old Sunday; ” he thought, “a cake full of love with a crabby frosting.”

“We’d better get going,” Sunday said. But the man detected a little nervousness in her voice – a lack of confidence – a trait she never showed on Earth.

“Where?”

The Cat nodded towards a granite marker with a golden arrow. “HEAVEN” was all it said.

The pair started walking down a silver road with a magnificent structure in the far distance.

The Cat’s Person spoke first: “Wow! This looks like real silver and feels like we’re on the yellow brick road to Oz.”

Sunday sighed. “It’s probably not a good idea to compare this walkway to a cheap, back lot set in Burbank,” she said.

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(TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW)