Now that my memoir, The Wit and Wisdom of Gracie, has been out for a while, it has been pointed out to me that it’s missing something commonly seen in memoirs – confessions of scandalous exploits in my life. Apparently, when humans write memoirs they include disclosures about illicit affairs, or substance abuse, maybe even financial indiscretions. It is widely believed that these boost book sales. Well, I can’t lay claim to any forbidden trysts, or illegal substances (I’m pretty sure my freeze-dried salmon treats are legal) and while I love going into the bank with my mother, I would certainly never cheat a bank, or anyone else, out of money.
But I did do something rather naughty the other day. As I wrote about in my book, I live with a very bossy cat named Aretha who is up there in years. She’s 18, and my mother says she has a touch of dementia. She apparently loses sight of the fact that 3 o’clock in the morning is not the time to rise and shine. Following her own inner muse (or inner demon) she starts meowing very loudly and dragging her toys down the hall into the bedroom. Sometimes she drags my toys around, which I think is very rude. Anyway, one of her toys has a bell on it. As if the meowing and the clattering around isn’t enough, we have to listen to that stupid bell too!
So I decided to take matters into my own paws. When no one was looking, I took that little bell toy out into the yard and I buried it! I know I shouldn’t have — it was selfish and inconsiderate of my elderly sister who probably would be sleeping at that ungodly hour if she had her wits about her. But I had simply had enough! If my mother finds it, I hope she doesn’t give it back to Aretha. There — that’s my confession. I know it can’t compete with the scandalous things that humans get themselves into, but hey, I’m only 8. Maybe I can think of something else before I write my next book..like getting a tattoo and learning to twerk.