WHEN I GROW UP

Look at me. Aren’t I the most beautiful kitten you have seen? Yes, I have to agree with you because this mirror tells me so but, being beautiful is not the only thing in life to make one happy, I want to achieve success and fame when I grow up. Now what will it be? I know. I want to be a prima donna, a soprano like Dame Joan Sutherland. My ambition is to sing at La Scala or Covent Garden or any of the famous opera houses around the world. When I sing arias from such great operas as La Boheme or The Marriage of Figaro, I know I will be praised for the unique quality of my voice as well as my dramatic stage presence. I want be the envy of the opera world. I have set my mind and heart towards that goal.

First of all, I must master the techniques of classical singing so I stand in front of the mirror to watch myself. After a long deep breath, I try a scale but somehow I can only produce a small miaow. Well, more practice is required obviously. Looking into the mirror, I open my mouth very wide, take a deep breath and produce a sound more pleasing to my ear. This seems to work so I take another breath, open my mouth wider and thrust my arms to the side. My lungs further expand and I can now produce a pitiful howl. This is so good. I really love this mirror. It does wonders. So, once again, I position my legs in an operatic stance, throw my arms to the side, open wide my mouth, take a deep breath and sing like Joan Sutherland has never sung before. As I sing “One Fine Day” from Madam Butterfly, my voice produces sounds so wonderful that they only could be termed tear jerking but, as I reach High C and sing “or die”, someone in the house threw an old boot and threatened to drown me in the river if I ever made that noise again. The physical pain I can bear but the mental anguish is devastating.

My operatic ambitions are now thwarted but I am determined to become famous in another artistic field maybe not quite so high brow. Looking in the mirror, I rather fancy myself as a feline Ginger Rogers. Dancing is something that I love and I’m sure that my voice is more suited to popular music anyway. Songs such as “Let’s Face the Music and Dance” are right up my alley. Ginger and I are very similar. I am a ginger coloured kitten. I can sing her songs. I can dance her dances. In fact, my feet cannot stop tapping, swaying and twirling to jazzy music. Practicing my steps in front of the mirror, I pretend my image is Fred Astaire and, together we sing and dance,

“It’s something daring, the continental,

A way of dancing, that’s really ultra new”.

Catchy words with great tempo and rhythm, don’t you think? Just like Ginger, I wail and pounce in front of the mirror. In the arms of Fred, I imagine myself in high heels and wearing a soft clinging, swirling dress. Fred looks dapper in his black tails and top hat and, as he waltzes me around a room, he looks lovingly into my eyes. My face reveals that I’m in seventh heaven. I’m truly the next Ginger Rogers. Unfortunately, someone in the household took exception to Ginger and Fred and threw me out the back door.

I do not like this household and when I grow up I intend to leave home and join the circus. Yes, that is what I will do. I will be independent and make my own way in life. But what to do in the circus? I don’t think that juggling is my cup of tea and being scared of heights rules out tight rope walking or the flying trapeze. Really don’t see myself as master of ceremonies dressed in that ridiculous red and blue uniform but I would probably qualify as the trained lion. Yes, I can roar. Yes, I can swish my paws in the air. Yes, I can lash out with my claws extended. Yes, I can jump from one stool to another. Yes, I can jump through a hoop. A circus life is definitely for me. Once again, I am standing in front of the mirror practicing my circus lion act. My roar is rather high pitched as I extend my sharp claws outwards and thrust my arms about quite menacingly. I claw at the slippery mirror. I pretend to jump through a hoop as I leap towards a chair. This is so much fun that I decide to sharpen my claws on a dining room chair. What bliss. As I jump from chair to chair sharpening my claws, roaring impulsively and attacking the air with my arms, I am going to be the best lion in the circus and, what is so appealing about that idea, is the freedom I will have. I am so elated by this idea that, without thinking, I claw and climb my way to the top of the lace curtains. When I reach the top, I realise that I’m scared of heights and start crying most pitifully. Before I’m rescued, I decide that feelings of elation as a circus lion may not always be for the better. After another session of abuse and being thrown outside, I decide then and there that, when I grow up, I will just be the house moggy who will look and admire herself in the mirror.