If Susi were human, I imagine she would be sassy and British. In the Georgetown days, I likened her to Diana Rigg in “The Avengers.” DC Susi was a fur-covered vigilante, kicking rodent ass and looking fab while doing it. All she needed was water, food, and a pair of sexy black pants (to sleep on). No one could touch her. Seriously, no one could touch her. She would do this weird little evasive Moonwalk-move if you tried to pet her. It’s not that DC Susi disliked people; she just knew she couldn’t get too close. You didn’t want to get mixed up with a cat like her. She was a loner, Dottie. A rebel.
These days, Susi tends to be less like Emma Peel and more like Mrs. Howell. AZ Susi is a lazy, spoiled mess. AZ Susi needs top-shelf, brand name cat food and Brita-filtered water. She demands the finer things in life, like shiny plastic Mardi Gras beads and laser pointers. She prefers to nap on Anthropologie catalogs. Her favorite hobby is throwing herself on the rug, purring and making goo-goo eyes at the back of my head.
I suppose she deserves it. She is technically retired now, after all. There are no mice to chase here (right?? RIGHT???) and I never let her near ANY of my pairs of black pants. Plus, she likes to eat dinner around 4:00 PM.
My cat is an old lady.