A cat of privilege

I wonder if Riblet ever sits around and marvels at what she’s achieved. I doubt it.

She started out life, as far as I know, as a chubby cat in an Indiana Petsmart. I have no idea what her pre-Petsmart history is – and neither does Petsmart – they lost her documents. The papers they gave us belonged to a completely different cat which the vet (that was referenced in the papers) kindly told us. Riblet won’t tell us how she ended up in Petsmart, but I harbor a dark suspicion she was kicked out of her previous home for being an evil, grumpy, mommy hater. Just a guess.

Perhaps the fake cat documents Petsmart provided us are like a fake passport. Riblet adopted a false identity and decided to start a new life, the cat equivalent of the witness protection program or being an undercover spy. Whatever the case may be, in her time with us, Riblet has developed a taste for the finer things in life. A few of years ago she discovered electric blankets; a deep and instant bond was formed. Anything that provides warmth and a soft sleeping surface is ok in Riblet’s book (mommy laps need not apply).

Just a year or so ago Riblet discovered memory-foam beds. Once she got the knack that the bed would actually contour and form to her - she was hooked. Often she will purr with glee that “the mattress remembers me!” Dawn will try and correct her and tell her that’s not why it’s called memory foam, but Riblet will opt for unconsciousness and ignore her mom’s explanations. Sometimes Dawn says stuff.

Recently Riblet has discovered cashmere. Dawn had an old cashmere sweater that developed a hole in it that she donated to one of Riblet’s beds. At first Riblet wanted nothing to do with the mommy reeking bedding. Once the distasteful remembrances of Dawn dissipated Riblet gave the cashmere bedding a try in earnest. The verdict? Oh My Gawd… Riblet loves cashmere. She spends a minimum of 45 minutes a day sitting in the bed and kneading her tiny little fists into the soft soft cashmere. This makes her a very happy cat indeed.

Last night Dawn and I started a fire. Before long we found Riblet sitting in my chair looking very pleased with herself. As if to say, “lounging in a leather club chair by a fire is something I was born to do.” Her manner betrayed not an air of gratitude for nice things we provide for her, but one of expectation and birthright. Riblet has ascended the ranks of feline destinies to a sheltered life of comfort and privilege, and the good life appears to suite her.