When I was a kid, I used to sit on the bed in my room with my guitar, and sing my little fool head off. And I loved it. But somewhere along the way I realized that people in other rooms could hear me, and I grew so self-conscious that I stopped. I don’t think my voice was like nails on a chalkboard, but unless I was auditioning for the school talent show or actually performing it in (and yes, I squeaked by with just enough talent to do that a few times) I didn’t want anyone to hear.
No, it doesn’t have to make any sense. That’s just the way I was. Am. I haven’t really opened my lungs and let it fly for about 25 years.
Tonight I sat here uploading CDs to my computer to then upload to my iPod, with the new Backstreet Boys CD blaring in my ears (hey! No laughing! I actually like them and this is probably their best CD! I am a grownup, I am!) when it occurred to me…Most of the time there’s no one here to hear me.
I can sing if I want to.
No one will mind.
So I did.
I switched the playlist I was listening to to something I knew the words to, and sang. Not very loud, just enough.
Buddah jumped up into my lap, stood upright on my lap, sniffed my mouth, and then put a paw over my lips.
I think Max was behind me, applauding him.
And then I remembered: the last time I sat at my desk and sang, Max did the same thing. Up on my lap, paw over my mouth. How bad do you have to be to upset cats? Not just one, but two of the little furballs.
So I’m going to sing just for them.
A song just for them.
To the tune of Little Bunny Foo Foo.
Great big bunny Thumpa
Hoppin’ down the hallway
Scoopin’ up the meaniehead cats
And boppin’ ‘em on the head…
That’ll teach them to make fun of me.