Movie Night with Mizzle

 

 

 

Saturday night cat sitting, just after Christmas . . . I’m downstairs on the sofa, doing stuff on my iPad while only barely watching TV because, let’s face it, TV is not that interesting these days.

Hikaru, the orange ‘shrimp kitty’ has been snuggling next to me for the last hour or two. I can never quite figure out if he loves me or the hand crotcheted blankie more. The blankie zaps him with static electricity but my good old-fashioned belly rubs are a serious contender. It’s a close race, I think. 

 

Next thing I know there’s a “Meow, meow, MEOW” coming from the stairs. I turn around. It’s the upstairs tiger kitty enticing me to follow her. 

“Mizzle . . .!” I say. “What’s up . . ?”

“Meow, meow, meow! MEOW!”

“Are you kidding? It’s not bed time yet . . . way too early for me . . .”

But she’s not giving up.“Meow, meow, meow, meow . . !”

Looking back at the TV, I have to admit she’s got a point. It’s been really lame, and not just tonight. There’s nothing I could do here that I couldn’t also do in bed. 

“Okay then,” I say. “But I’m still going to watch stuff!”

I grab my things, tell Hikaru to come join us once he’s done zapping himself and get moving. Mizzle runs up ahead of me. She’s not called me to bed before, that’s definitely a first. I’m curious to see what she’s got on her mind . . .

Upstairs Mizzle squints as I turn on the lights. “What . . ?” I laugh. “You know well that humans are not lucky enough to have eyes like yours that can see in the dark. . .” 

Next I give the wood stove a nod. I call it Marvin . . . the white round shape reminds me of the robot from the Hitchhikers Guide movie. I feel a bit sorry for him because the design works much better on a wood stove. (No offense to Douglas Adams, it’s the movie design people that failed to grasp the chance of a lifetime. Marvin, the depressed robot, should have been awesome.)

I put my iPad down, informing Mizzle that I’m not ready yet, humans have all kinds of stuff to do before they’re allowed to go to bed. 

Finally it’s all taken care of. I carefully lift the covers and get in next to Mizzle, the night lover kitty, who usually pretends not to know me during daylight hours. Reaching out to pet her, she rewards me with a sweet throaty purr. Ahhh . . . that sound never fails . . . A world with a purr is a good world . . . 

I grab my iPad from the side table and open it up.“So . . . Mizzie . . . what shall we watch . . ?”

This could take a while. Netflix has been awful recently, loads of crap movies, violent to the extent of being gory or full of dystopia and bad ‘humpy’ sex. Topping it off with male leads that apparently have never come across razors and their stunning capabilities of making people look nice. 

But, tonight apparently, we’re in luck. ‘The Art of the Steal’ looks like it could be a hoot. Click to load and off we go . . . 

The beginning credits are already promising good action ahead. Mizzle has her head on my arm and I notice, much to my surprise, that she is actually watching. Her eyes are getting big with fascination, rolling left, right and up and down with the movement in front of her, following the names on the screen as they are flying in and out in all directions. 

Once the scene is set and the plot is moving along Kurt Russell shows us how to ride a motorbike like a boss. Fast. Furious! We watch, captivated. Man, what a chase, this really is fun . . . Mizzle’s eyes are getting bigger and bigger, I can almost hear her go ‘vroom vroom!’ with her head hooked on the bike chase. She looks like she has half a mind to jump on the back seat. In her excitement she starts pawing the screen . . .  I’m not really sure if she wants to catch the riders and eat them or just turn up the speed some more. 

 

Race over, we all take a breath. Kurt Russell is safe for now, phew. We can get back to more gentle plot moving. But apparently paintings and art heists are not as much up Mizzle’s street as fast chases. I can tell she’s losing interest, and so am I. Hmmm . . .  what to do . . . 

A thought comes to mind. A number of years back I tried to get my cat’s attention, which led me to the weird and wonderful world of movies made for felines. Pulling up YouTube, I do a search on ‘videos for cats’. Voilà, what a selection . . . videos with birds, fish and all kinds of other attractions. 

“Wanna watch some birdies, Mizzle?”

She stares at me in the half dark. I’m not entirely sure if she has a scathing look on her face, perhaps sending me a thought along the lines of ‘what is it with humans and baby language . . ?’

 

I decide to ignore it though and click on the first option. It’s a real video of birds… okay . . . They flutter around, chirping and singing . . . hmm . . . 

“They’re pretty, aren’t they?” I say, looking over at her.She pretends not to be interested at first, but then the movement and tweeting grabs her. Guess who’s getting excited? 

Suddenly her paw shoots across my screen so fast I can hardly follow. Tap! Tap! And another one, tap! Now she’s totally getting into it. TAP! TAP! And another one, yay! TAP TAP!

Now I’m beginning to fear for my iPad. I have created a monster! Cat claws and screens? Help! Quick, put on something less exciting! 

Two lightning fast clicks. “Here,” I say. “How about these fish…?”

Pretty goldfish swimming from left to right… right to left. 

Tap . . . tap . . . much slower, less scratching: waaaay better!

I’m breathing a sigh of relief. Looks like my screen, like Kurt Russell, is out of danger. 

Mizzle gives me a ‘look’, stretches, then yawns.I can swear she’s making that ‘you’re getting old and boring’ face.
Nevermind. It’s time to turn off the iPad and the light. 

“Goodnight, Mizzie . . .” I say as I lie down.

She scrambles up into the crook of my elbow and purrs.
Ahhh . . . all is forgiven . . . purr . . . purr . . . 

“Admit it, Mizzie, that was fun!”

“Purr . . .  PURR . . .  snore . . .” she says, her legs kicking a little bit, perhaps to get the bike started, as she’s riding off into dreams that mere humans know nothing about. 

Closing my eyes I drift into dreamland too, wondering if that really was Kurt Russell on the back seat of Mizzle’s bike.