The Life of a Celebrity Cat: Part 1
Photo by Mona Magnussen on Unsplash
“Daddi, come quickly! Look!”
“Rinpoche, why are you gazing out the window with that goofy expression?”
“Tamara is walking past our house, Daddi!”
“Who’s Tomato?”
“Tamara, Daddi. She’s a celebrity. Isn’t she wonderful?”
“I don’t know. I see five cats. Which one is Tamarind?”
“Her name is Tamara, Daddi. She’s the beautiful cat in the middle. The four big tabbies surrounding her are her bodyguards.”
“Why are all those yapping chihuahuas chasing after her? It looks like chaos out there!”
“They are the puppyrazzi, Daddi. I’ve told you about them before. They’re always sniffing around looking for gossip to spread about poor Tamara. It’s a disgrace!”
“Well, I suppose that’s the price of fame. But why is she a celebrity? What does she actually do?”
“You don’t have to do anything to become a celebrity, Daddi; you just are one.”
“But why do you admire her so much, Rinpoche? What’s so special about this Tamarisk?”
“Tamara, Daddi. Can’t you see how beautiful she is? Just look at that fur!”
“All cats have fur. I still don’t understand why you are so star-struck.”
“Daddi, she lives in a huge mansion in Surrey and she has many human servants. She even has her own butler, who serves her meals in a diamond encrusted bowl.”
“Well, I serve all your meals, so you could say that you have a butler too.”
“Yes, but with all due respect, you don’t serve my meals with ceremony, Daddi. Usually, you just plonk my bowl down on the floor and yell, ‘Where are you, you silly cat?’”
“That’s because you always disappear at dinner time, and the ants get into your food while you are away.”
“I can’t help having calls of nature, Daddi. It’s very hurtful to be spoken to so insultingly.”
“You are quite right, Rinpoche. I’ll try harder in the future to treat you more like a celebrity.”
“I’d really like that, Daddi.”
A Basket of De-paw-rabbles: Part 2
Photo by Jari Hytonen on Unsplash
“Daddi, do you know what I like best about Tamara?”
“That celebrity cat? Is she passing our house again?”
“Yes, Daddi, she’s touring in Gloucestershire. She’ll be on the road for three days before returning to Surrey.”
“So, what were you saying you liked about her?”
“She’s never forgotten her humble origins, Daddi. She, too, was once a rescue cat, so she’s one of us.”
“Well, hardly, Rinpoche. She lives in a fancy mansion and has many servants. And let’s not forget the diamond encrusted food bowl.”
“Yes, but she really cares about ordinary cats, like me, who are poor and live in poky little houses…”
“This is not a poky little house, Rinpoche! I paid a lot of money for it, and it’s always been good enough for you before. Besides, you are definitely not ‘poor’.”
“Daddi, the point is that Tamara isn’t a snob. She speaks very fondly about those cats that are less fortunate than she is. She calls us her ‘basket of little de-paw-rabbles’.”
“Deplorables? That doesn’t sound like a compliment to me!”
“De-paw-rabbles, Daddi. And Tamara keeps saying that if she could make it to the top, then so can we. We just have to escape our wretched homes and environments. Daddi, do you think I’ll be a celebrity cat one day?”
“I very much doubt it, Rinpoche. And I don’t understand why you would want to. Think about those yapping Chihuahua newshounds that make poor Tamala’s life a misery.”
“Tamara, Daddi. Well, if I’m never going to be a celebrity, and I’m always going to live in a poky little home, could you please do one small favour for me?”
“What’s that, Rinpoche?”
“When you serve my dinner tonight, could you grovel just a little to make me feel better about myself?”
“I’ll grovel as much as you like, Rinpoche. You’ll always be my own special celebrity cat.”
The End
