Title: From the SPCA to College Royalty: The Journey of Chair the Cat
Well, well, well. It looks like it’s time for another riveting installment of my fabulous life story. I’m Chair, the cat who was adopted for a whopping $50 (I know, right? Talk about a bargain). I came from humble beginnings at the SPCA, but now, I’m practically college royalty, with my human treating me like the queen I am. But before I go into all the glories of dorm life and college fame, let’s rewind a little and talk about how I got here in the first place.
Adoption: My Humble Beginnings (aka, How I Became Worth $50)
Let’s start with the day I was adopted. There I was, just minding my business at the SPCA, lounging around, letting out the occasional meow to remind the humans of my presence. I wasn’t too interested in being adopted because, let’s face it, I was already kind of a big deal. But then, this young woman walked in—funny, smart, and beautiful (obviously, she was going to be my human). She looked at me, I looked at her, and we had one of those unspoken “Yeah, this is it” moments.
Apparently, I cost her $50, which I guess is some sort of human money thing. I’m worth a lot more than that, obviously, but I let it slide because I could see she was a good one. She adopted me just like that, with barely any paperwork and a quick exchange of that green stuff. Can you believe they practically gave me away? Don’t they know who I am?
The Canadian Cruise Plot Twist
Oh, but here’s where the story gets even better. My human’s parents were on a cruise in Canada at the time—because nothing says vacation like freezing your tail off in the land of ice and snow, apparently. While they were off frolicking with moose and Mounties, my human had this genius idea to adopt me without telling them. Classic human move. They had no clue I was even in the picture.
So, when they got back from their grand cruise through the tundra, I was there. Just chilling in their living room, like, “Surprise! I live here now.” You should’ve seen the look on their faces. Priceless. I’m pretty sure they didn’t sign up for a grandcat while they were off eating poutine and maple syrup, but tough luck, folks. I was already here, and I wasn’t going anywhere.
The Three-Hour Ride: College Home to Summer Home (aka the Torture Mobile)
Twice a year, I endure what I like to call the Torture Mobile: a three-hour car ride back and forth between my college dorm and my summer home. Now, let me be clear—cats were not designed for long-distance travel. But my human insists on dragging me along because apparently, I’m “part of the family” and she “can’t leave me alone at school.”
The first hour isn’t so bad. I sit in my carrier and shoot my human looks of deep betrayal. I’ll yowl a few times for dramatic effect, but mostly, I just glare at her. By hour two, I start considering escape plans. Maybe if I chew through the mesh of the carrier, I can make a run for it? But then, hour three kicks in, and I’m too tired to stage a rebellion. I just sit there, quietly plotting my revenge.
When we finally arrive at the summer house, I’m whisked inside, where I’m greeted by them—my cousins, Daisy and Apple.
Daisy and Apple: Know Your Place, Peasants
Daisy and Apple are my grandma’s cats, and let me tell you, they know who’s in charge when I’m around. Daisy is one of those sleek, quiet types, while Apple is a little more… clueless. But here’s the thing: the moment I walk into that house, they know. They just know that Chair is here, and they need to step aside. It’s not even a conversation. I walk in, they scatter. Authority established.
I’ll admit, I’ve had to give them the occasional “skippidy pop” (patent pending), which is what my human calls it when I deliver a quick, no-nonsense face slap to remind them of my superiority. You see, sometimes Daisy likes to test boundaries, and Apple is just too dramatic for my taste, so a little cat-to-cat correction is necessary. You know, just to keep the order.
Unfortunately, Grandma doesn’t always appreciate my methods. She has this thing called “timeout,” where she puts me in a room by myself for a while after I assert dominance. Apparently, slapping Apple in the face is “unladylike” or whatever. I disagree. But Grandma’s house, Grandma’s rules, I guess.
The Summer House: Where Lizards Run, and Patios Are Made for Lounging
But when I’m not being put in timeout for being a boss, the summer house is pretty sweet. There’s a massive patio, and let me tell you, the lizards are out in full force. Florida lizards don’t stand a chance against my quick reflexes. I’ll spend hours out there, lounging in the sun, pretending not to care about the lizards darting across the tiles. Then, bam! Quick paw swipe, and I’ve got myself a little entertainment.
The humans get all squeamish when I catch one, though. Apparently, they think lizards are friends, not food. I’ve been told off more than once for bringing one inside as a “gift.” Ungrateful.
The patio is also my prime relaxation spot. After a long year of putting up with dorm life and college shenanigans, I deserve a break. I’ll lay out there for hours, soaking in the sun, listening to the birds chirp, and keeping an eye on the neighbors (nosy humans love to gossip outside). It’s like my own personal resort—minus the constant interruptions from Daisy and Apple glaring at me through the patio doors.
The Humans: Always Watching, Always Laughing
As much as I like to think I’m the queen of the summer house, I have to admit the humans run a pretty tight ship. My grandma has been known to enforce rules about “sharing” the space with Daisy and Apple. Apparently, we’re all supposed to “get along” and “be nice to each other.” Again, I’m forced to remind everyone that I am the boss, and sometimes that requires a little assertiveness. But my human finds it hilarious when I get put in timeout. She even has the nerve to take pictures of me sitting behind a closed door, looking all “wronged” and “offended.”
Like I said, she’s funny, but sometimes, I think she takes the humor a bit too far. I’m not a joke, you know—I’m a feline monarch.
Final Thoughts: The Chair Legacy
From the SPCA to college dorms, to summer vacations filled with lizard hunts and timeout sessions, life as Chair is full of twists and turns. Some might say I’m spoiled, others might say I’m a handful, but I like to think I’m living my best life. After all, how many rescue cats can say they’re college juniors with a private patio and two peasant cousins?
Sure, I cost my human a measly $50, but I’ve proven that I’m worth much, much more. Just ask Margo, Socks, Daisy, or Apple—or better yet, ask my human when she has to explain why she’s constantly buying me new toys, gourmet food, and lint rollers.
So until the next adventure, this queen is off to lounge in the sun and dream of a world where timeout doesn’t exist.
Chair out.