Rigo's Place

Stories about the trials and tribulations of Rigoletto.

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As you can see from my photograph I’m a cat, but not just any cat I’m Rigoletto the world’s greatest cat. I can’t tell my age, you wouldn’t believe it anyway. My very favorite food is olives, the jumbo kind with the little red worm stuffed inside just in case anyone should want to send me some. I live somewhere in the U.S.A., but I’m not allowed to say where. Dad be afraid the town get sued or we get thrown out.

Friday, January 13, 2006

HAPPY NEW YEAR WORLD!
RIGO'S BACK


Yes indeed I’m back and ready to go. The first thing to do is wish everyone a great year to come and pray the politicians don’t blow up the world because me is in it. Hope you folks had a Merry Christmas because I didn’t. No indeed I was left HOME ALONE with the unrefined beasts who I had to endure during the absence of my parents. It’s no secret I hate being left home alone with Baby, Callie and the street cat Peppy. They simply are all hairy beasts and none as handsome as me, but enough of this and on to what I call The Ironing Board Caper.

I was not responsible for it and no one can lay it at my doorstep. Mom was getting back to bed for the second time the other night, and I was almost asleep at the foot of the bed when suddenly we heard a loud noise. Was it a burglar, had someone broken into our home. Dad was fast asleep and Mom didn’t want to wake him about something as silly as a home break-in. As second in line of security I knew I’d be called on to check things out so I pretended to be fast asleep. I simply didn’t feel the need to terrorize some poor hapless burglar who may have invaded our home, let Mom do it! Better still let Callie do it. No burglar better dare fool with her or she’ll eat him alive. She’s the meanest cat on this good earth; just ask our doctor she’ll tell you. Enough of Callie I’ll tell you more about her another time better get back to my story and not ramble. But she makes me mad every time I think of her.

“Rigo,” Mom whispered. I sank even farther down under the covers and kept my eyes tightly shut. “Guess I’ll have to go alone,” said Mom getting out of bed and giving me the evil eye. Slowly she made her way into the hall, by this time I began to feel sorrow in my heart for her and crept silently down the hall behind her. “Thank you, Rigo, I knew you’d never let me go alone,” she whispered as we entered the living room. Phew, no one was there. On we went until we came to the laundry room that also serves as our dining room and where our facilities are kept. “We’d better check this out Mom,” I said and with great courage entered the room ahead of her. Something was in the way, “Flip the light’s Mom.”

There on the floor lay the cause of our venture through the darken house. The ironing board had fallen on top of the vacuum cleaner along with brooms and mop. Who did it? Mom and me knew the ironing board had not suddenly jumped a top the vacuum cleaner for a wild ride and neither had the brooms and mop. We had a caper on our hands, a middle of the night who done it. Poor Mom had to pick up everything and put them back in their proper place. “I’ll never get to sleep after this, Rigo,” she moaned. “Go back to bed, Mom, I’ll handle it.” I would find the hairy beast or beasts that was the cause of our lack of sleep and kill them.

I called a meeting and demanded to know who was the party responsible for poor Mom’s fright and dragging me out of bed into a cold, dark house in the middle of the night. “Who done it,” I shrieked. No one moved or spoke, no one was claiming responsibility, cowards all. Finally chicken-little spoke, “It was me, I didn’t mean to do it, it was a lack of judgment,” mewed the street cat Peppy. All street cat’s lack judgment or they wouldn’t be street cat’s was what I was thinkin’.

“I was sharpening my claws as I always do on the ironing board, great place for sharpening,” he rambled “when I caught a claw in the cloth. I didn’t want to tear Mom’s board for I knew she’d be really mad at me,” he kept rambling. “How did you knock down everything,” I screamed. “I pulled a little too hard and everything started falling on me,” he cried. “I could have been killed.”

Poor little kitty almost killed not by a car or truck but by an ironing board. Dumb street cat! “Well cat you’ll have to confess to Mom in the morning what you done. I hope it’s back to the street life you go,” I said discussed at having a dumb street cat disturb my good night’s rest. The ironing board caper was solved, but I knew my Mom would never send Peppy back to the street life no matter how many ironing boards he knocked down.

Until next time,
May God bless you and yours,
Rigo