Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. I don't mean "good" as in morally "good." Cats aren't morally good or bad. They're just cats. And that's what I mean. As far as the nature of cats go, Homesteader fits the profile.
Curious. Nothing can be happening within her earshot that can escape being checked out. She has to see what's going on. And she has to check out everything. For example, yesterday I finally got around to hauling off a ton of stuff to Goodwill. It had been sitting there in a pile for a couple months. As soon as I started picking things up to pack into the car, Nosy Rosie had to give her approval. Nose approval. Meow approval. And once the stuff was all gone, she naturally had to give her full inspection to what was now revealed to all, everything that had been in "hiding" as long as the boxes were in the way. Even empty space needs inspection. As a matter of fact, she's always checking out stuff that she's already checked out a zillion times before. To just walk past something, anything, is against cat protocol I guess. I'm glad I still don't understand catonese. I'm sure at least fifty times a day she meows, "Well. would you look at that. I wonder what it is?" (Or "what it isn't," I suppose.) I think her constant reiteration of such a phrase, if I could understand her, would negatively affect our relationship. Can anyone say animal shelter?
Her curiosity has also led to her claiming exclusive viewing rights to four windows. The doorwindow is for when she's in chipmunk love. Back and forth in front of the doorwindow as the little varmint scampers across the patio. Paw taps on the pane. Dinner thoughts in the brain. Another claimed window is the red chair window at the side of the house. From there she can see the side yard and loves to sit with her seat on the chair and her body stretched out to see out the window. It's her perch. It's also convenient when catnapitist sets in. The chair used to be Mom's, and the white dish rag was accustomed to sleeping on the top of it making sure Mom was being good. Though Mom is Home and the chair relocated, it is still a lovely place to stretch out and take a nap. Her third window is at the bottom of the stairs and gives a view of the back patio--particularly interesting when Bonnie is walking across the patio on her way home. This window she sits in. Yes, I had to move the flower pots to make room. Duh. Whose window is it anyway? The last window is at the top of the stairs and gives a bird's eye view of the back. It is also open in the summer, thus meeting the nose curiosity factor in a cat's life. (She did get a little surprise during the last thunderation. The winds were so strong the rain came pouring in the window. Heh, heh. Poor wet kitty cat.)
This window has led to the fulfillment of another good cat syndrome--Odd behavior. Invariably when she jumps down from this window--you can hear it on County Road 25, I'm sure. Are cats made of stone? Anyway, invariably--and I do mean invariably--when she jumps down from this window she comes slinking--yes, they slink--down the steps in full catonese, never pausing until she finds me, sits at my feet meowing, waiting patiently until I acknowledge her presence and pet her. I assume she's giving me the low down on what's happening outside. Although sometimes, I think it's just an attention getter. Why? She'll slink up the stairs, jump into the window, immediately jump right back down, and saunter--yes, they saunter, too--down the stairs and demand my attention, "talking" all the time. An additional odd behavior, as of late, is crawling under the blanket she likes to sleep on. I'll come into the bedroomlibrary and sticking out from under the blanket will be the tip of a tail or a paw or her blueyellow-eyed face. Why under? Got me. Odd. At least to this human. Not that she cares what the human slave thinks. Perfectly reasonable--good--behavior in a cat's view I'm sure.
Her third good cat behavior: sneakiness. She knows she's not to get on the table. She knows she's not allowed on the computer desk or, obviously, the shelf above it. She knows that nighttime singing is reprehensible. Does she care? Of course not. The minute the old man goes to bed--everything is fair game. She knows that she can get down from the taboo places before the human can catch her. And sitting on the floor looking up at you innocently is a cat specialty. She knows a "shut up" called out from the bed will do no harm to her harmonizing--and that the human is too lazy to get up and come after her; not that he could ever catch her. The evidence of her catrousing is undeniable. Pens, nick-knacks, papers on the floor each morning. Yes, "when the cat's away the mice will play." And "when the human's asleep, the cat will creep." Yes, they creep as well.
Though the ornery critter rarely hears the words "good cat." She is certainly a good role model for her other furry relatives. And she's totally unaffected by the stigma of "bad cat," or "stupid cat," or any other such summary judgments from the lips of the powerless human lackey. Sigh. To be owned by a cat . . . a good cat.
No comments:
Post a Comment