Tomorrow our dear Miles turns 11! This has been a very big year for our sweet guy. On top of welcoming a baby sister into the family, whom he is delightfully and almost aggressively ambivalent about, he went on a diet and lost about six pounds and now he can even hoist himself up on top of our kitchen cabinets where he enjoys watching over everyone sort of creepy-like. He’s in such great shape now that his vet gave the ok to reduce his insulin injections from two times a day to just once daily. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if this time next year he’s off insulin completely. That’s how committed he is to his healthy lifestyle!
Those of you who have been reading the site since the beginning probably remember the wise and surprisingly philosophical advice Miles has shared in the past through his guest column, Dear Miles, but what you don’t know is that he’s been slowly — very slowly, between naps and bird-watching, working on a book of columns for the last few of years. Last year he promised it would be on its way to publication by the end of the summer, but then he got distracted by a new laser toy and now here it is, a whole year later, and he’s still tying up some loose ends. But, who knows — maybe he’ll get the darn thing to the presses yet. Anyway, here’s an excerpt from the forthcoming book below:
I suppose I’ve been watching too much TV lately. Well, I know just what I’m going to do about it. I decided to join one of those fun book clubs. I’ll make lots of friends in my new book club because on the first day I’ll bring my famous banana bread and tell everyone my funny story about the time I was in an elevator with Eddie Murphy. Everybody loves that story. I’m going to drive down to Walgreens right now to buy a new pair of reading glasses and a Nelson DeMille novel. I am so excited to read interesting books with fun friends!
Owings Mills MD.
I don’t wear contact lenses, but I wish I did. If I wore contacts, I would take them out at the end of a long day and put on my glasses. Then I’d watch a little TV and maybe read a magazine article before I hit the sack. Some nights I’d be so tired I’d accidentally fall asleep with my glasses on. That would be pretty funny.
Update: I looked into it and they don’t make contact lenses for cats. They don’t make cat glasses either. Apparently, they do make cat sunglasses but they are not prescription.
My boss is going away with his wife for the three-day weekend. They own a houseboat on Lake Shasta and his wife Camille stopped by the office to pick him up. My boss is finishing up a conference call while Camille sits by the front desk reading People magazine. It’s the one with Marie Osmond on the cover. Should I tell Camille how nice she looks in turquoise? It’s a perfectly innocent thing to say to someone. Maybe she’ll be charmed by my compliment and give me a sexy wink. It’s unlikely.
I know one thing. After my boss and Camille leave the office I’m going to read that People magazine.
When Wendy, the man, and the kids go out of town, our neighbor Mary usually stops by to feed me and Simone Fancy Feast and give me my insulin shot.
I love it! Mary is always so happy to see me and gives me lots of hugs and kisses and lots of treats after I get my shot. Then Mary puts on a Nat King Cole record, breaks out the cards, and we play a game of gin rummy. She smokes a couple of cigarettes and tells me all the neighborhood gossip as I stare helplessly at my cards unable to make any sense of them. One time I almost won.
It’s been six months since Shelia walked out on Tommy. “Some wounds don’t heal,” Tommy mumbled. “Some days it might require a tourniquet, some days it might require a band-aid. But it won’t never heal.” Then he turned quiet and finished busing his station. The couple sitting there got pretty drunk and left behind a real mess.
I know Tommy’s a lot cuter than Glenn and he makes all them pretty speeches, but I ain’t never seen Glenn throw himself a pity party. Not once. Also, Glenn eats red meat and I swore on my life I’d never date another vegetarian.
My fur sheds all over Wendy’s clothes and I feel bad about it. I hide in shame under the blue chair as Wendy leaves the apartment oblivious to the cat hair fiasco on the sleeve of her nice coat. I’ve tried to warn her, but the more I meow the more she hugs me and tells me how cute I am, which, of course, only exacerbates the problem. I tell myself some of that is Simone’s hair too, but I know it’s a lie. I am big, I am hairy, and I recently created a situation in the litter box that might result in our building being condemned.
I don’t understand why Wendy loves me, but she does.