Testing Gravity
I woke up this morning to a certain fourteen-year-old yellow tabby cat testing gravity because breakfast was late.
Meep! Trill!
He jumped onto my bed and headbonked me. I rubbed his chin. Then I rolled over and went back to sleep.
Then he jumped onto my window sill and rattled the blinds. I didn't budge.
Next, he jumped onto my desk. I opened one eye. It's like I saw the wheels in his little pea brain spinning.
Clickety-Clack-Clickety-Clack. He's walking on the computer keyboard. Unlike my late torbie nurse cat, Lilith, he does not know how to turn the computer on (or off when I'm in the middle of using it).
Crumple-Crumple-Crumple-Swish! That was the pile of job ads I was all set to reply to. They're on the floor now. I still didn't budge.
RATTLE-RATTLE-RATTLE. He found the bottle of vitamins I keep on my desk. This should be good.
Mew! ("Meowmie, I'm starving!")
RATTLE-RATTLE-RATTLE-PLONK! Two points. The bottle of vitamins landed in the wastebasket.
"Alright, I'm up!"
But did he really want breakfast? Of course not! He jumped onto my bed again, rolled onto his back, and demanded a belly rub.
And yes, I do still have both hands — and all ten fingers!
Very apropos regarding cat behaviour. My brother's cat, Naomi torments Bono during their once a year Thanksgiving visit. Sits out of his reach and stares, moves a paw, hisses, to tempt him to pounce. Then Bono gets in trouble if he does. Bono keeps an eye out for Naomi when he goes around a corner. She takes refuge in the piano, or on top of the bookcase, or in the spare room, where my mom will protect her. He finally goes home and she doesn't see him for another 365 blissful days. I feel bad for them both, because I'm not sure who would win, if there ever was a real fight. Bono is a placid creature for the most part. Doesn't move fast enough or have the patience to stalk and kill a bird, mouse, chipmunk or baby squirrel. But in my brother's house, there are limited places for Naomi to run, and Bono can jump and climb better than most dogs.
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