December 24 ~ Americat
in
A Big Warm Belly
Hey dudes! I'm America Cat! And when you hear my human calling me a "fat slab of cat," know that it's a perfectly valid compliment because that's just the way I ended up being shaped and I'd go ahead and call him a "fat slab of human" if he could understand my meowing. Well, it's not like he's an actual fat slab of anything. I'd say he's squishy, but then I'd just get to thinking about kneading his tummy again so I can calm down and catch my sleepies for the night. It's like total symbiosis. He says, "Hey, kitty, come be a fat slab on me," then I haul myself up on the couch and knead his tummy until we're both sleepy, and while I'm all snug on his squish, he gets some extra warmth in the midst of this balmy Minnesota weather.
Mm, seven degrees. That's right. It would be an insult to say "uffda" when it's absolutely tropical outside. I watched my human step outside for one second to grab a peanut butter bon bon, and his feet turned totally red, but did he utter an "uffda?" No sir, he did not. Because "uffdas" are for those frosty days when college students walk to class with a few more layers. Like sweatpants and a hoodie. My human says those'll keep you toasty when your nose hairs are instantly frozen.
But I'm a fat slab of cat, and while it's fun to roll around in the snow, today really wasn't the day. I couldn't even sit on the windowsill to watch the 4pm sunset because a blizzard blew through last night, (leaving a frickin' disappointing three inches and drifts,) and the window pane was a straight-up icicle. Cool and yet so not cool against my generous body. So I had to lie on the bed and watch the golden sunlight sparkle off the snow from there. It made my neck a little sore after a while, but it was the best seat in the house to start smelling that delicious Christmas dinner. My human spent all of last night watching fifteen different youtube videos on how to cook a prime rib. It was the first night when I didn't end up slabbing on him while he snored away to Hallmark's movie formula, scattered cookie crumbs and stubble all over his chin.
Canada Cat came over just after the sun had sunk below the horizon. Together, we huddled up and flicked our tails and sniffed in that buttery scent of Yorkshire pudding, which is totally not the elegant dessert it sounds like.
It's bread made out of the beef fat. Absolutely cursed and absolutely frickin' delicious.
The timer on the thermometer dinged, and I raced downstairs to get a peek at that ten pound beast of a roast. A cloud of steam puffed up to fog my human's glasses as he pleasured himself slicing into such a huge pink abomination.
"He's not going to eat all that, right? Not even the both of them could eat all that," Canada Cat said.
"Oh, that'll all get eaten," I told him, leaning forward over the counter to inspect how the juice all dripped from the gray-white bones.
My human called me a fat slab and told his brother to carry both of us over to the kitty tree. I hauled myself up to the top platform and let myself melt into a puddle of happiness at all the smells of the kitchen. Prime rib with the store-bought au jus for dipping, mashed potatoes, roasted carrots and asparagus, buttshrooms — those are what my human calls mushrooms simmered in butter and soy sauce — and, ya know, a whole head of lettuce ground up and mixed with ranch and bacon bits, to be healthy.
Yes, I got to indulge in a few pieces of meat after I draped my fat slab of a body over my human's lap and meowed and clawed at his sweater enough. Then Canada Cat and I were banished to the basement for the remainder of the meal, of which I know no meat was left over, because I live with a guy who needs to eat a roast like that to justify his teleporting around the globe on a daily basis.
Honestly, sometimes when he says "fat slab," he's talking about whatever huge hunk of meat he's waiting to ask the youtube machine how to season and serve.
After loafing and grooming and flopping around on the rough basement carpet, Canada Cat's human opens the basement door, and we're allowed to come upstairs again. The seven-hour stream of a crackling fire is still pulsing on the TV, and all that's left on the dining room table is the cronchy-looking Dutch apple pie and a cube of ice cream just waiting to have forks stuck in it.
My human comes into the living room with a whipped cream can stuck in his mouth. He pushes the nozzle and inflates his cheeks with fluff before swallowing it all in one gulp. Then he flops down on the couch while Canada Cat's human plugs in the rainbow lights of the Christmas tree.
"Time for presents," my human says, flailing his arms.
"Sure is!" says Canada Cat's human. He tosses a box over to my human, and I take my position right in the middle of the living room carpet. My haunches raise, and my tail flicks back and forth in anticipation. I had my tasty morsels of meat, but this is the real treat: Playing with the wrapping paper!
"Dude, this is exactly the video game I asked for! Plus new driving gloves? And what is this? Omigod, you got me Dude Shoes. Mattie, these are the ones I was lookin' at that one time an' I told you they were expensive but—"
He goes on and on about the presents, but he's already thrown the wrapping paper on the floor. I spring into action, going ham on ripping that happy snowman print to absolute shreds. My claws are flying so fast, you'd hardly believe I was a big jiggly fat slab of cat before my mission came to fruition. Meanwhile, Canada Cat's in the box. He's just in there, staring at me over one edge with his dilated pupils. I growl at him, and his head sinks below the surface of his new cardboard bunker.
My human gives his brother a present, and the same result occurs. Ribbons and wrappings are thrown to the floor, where I make them my personal shredded lettuce salad. Holes are ripped and string is torn into shreddle. Of course, it's all fun and games until a piece of tape gets stuck to my butt, and then I fail at hauling myself up onto the kitty tree and my human laughs at me for a full ten minutes. When he pulls the tape off me, I give him a Christmas present in the form of a scratch to the hand. He makes a big show out of treating it with the forest-scented lotion he got as a gift, and then flops back on the couch again.
"Welp, that was Christmas," my human says.
"We still get to wait for Santa to come," says his brother.
"Oh yeah! Bro, Santa's coming! I wonder if he remembered what I asked him for!"
I jump through a mountain of shredded wrapping paper and plunge into a box I think is unoccupied before Canada Cat squeals and writhes beneath me. "Too heavy! You're too heavy!" He puffs. I wiggle and jiggle until both of us tumble out onto the carpet and have to detangle ourselves.
The apple pie and ice cream are had. The last of the shrimp dip is eaten on crackers. Then, when the room is lit only by lamplight, my human pulls a blanket over himself on the couch and asks his brother to sit on his feet. His brother responds by bringing a pair of socks, which do just as good.
"Hey, kitty, come be a fat slab on me. Ya fat slab of cat, come 'ere."
He smiles as he says this. I bound up and haul myself up to the cushion, then up onto his tummy. It's become a full belly after all that food, and he wastes no time giggling at the noises it makes when I knead and press to prepare my nest.
"Good kitty," my human says, giving my cheeks a stroke. He takes off his glasses and puts them behind him on the side table. "Goo'night, kitty. Merry Christmas."
I flop down on his stomach so hard he lets out a mighty "uffda!" And then I smile back.
"Merry Christmas," I meow in turn.
~N~
Merry Christmas~!
Updated by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net December 25th, 2020. Reposters cursed.