Poets write about the lovely soft sounds of morning. I don’t know where they live but this is what it sounds like here:
I opened the door to my garage this morning and my indoor/outdoor cat was on the step. She was cold and she was mad and she wanted in NOW. Never mind that two hours ago she had wanted out NOW. It was all my fault that she had been forced to sit outside. She came in with a huff and muttered grumblings.
Then I headed outside. When the garage door opened it signaled the start of the complaining season. Spirit was first. He always yells. This would be because I’m always late with his food. It doesn’t matter that this morning I was in fact a half hour earlier than normal. In his worldview I am always late and he is always about to starve to death. Hence the yelling from his stall that earned him the nickname, “The Angry Horse” from the neighbors.
Then Nugget the neighbor horse started. She was mad because my herd was inside and not outside where she wanted them. I have to power to change this so she screams at me. I started to explain to her that they were staying in today because I’m going to be leaving soon. I won’t be back until late and my herd gets cranky if they have to stay out too late when it is cold and the grass isn’t growing. Not like they are spoiled rotten or anything. Then I decided that I didn’t need to justify myself to the neighbor horse. She just kept screaming.
I walk into the barn and Spirit is still muttering. Nugget is still screaming. I was met by my two grey barn cats. These cats are not friendly. I can’t pet them. They don’t particularly like me to even look at them. But they were out of cat food. They met me in the aisle to tell me about this. Loudly and persistently. I tell them to wait while I feed the horses. This shuts up Spirit.
Then I head back to the house for cat food. The cats think I’m abandoning them and get more vocal. Nugget sees me outside and starts hollering louder. At least when I come back with the cat food the cats give little satisfied grunts that I chose to interpret as thank yous.
Then I go back to the house. The last sound I hear as I shut the door is Nugget calling me all kinds of filthy horse names. There are times that I would love to be able to understand exactly what they are saying. Then there are times when I think it is best that I don’t know. I think I know exactly how the only slave in a castle full of pampered aristocracy feels.