Things are settling back into a dull tedium again. Top cat status hasn’t been fully worked out, but so far, it looks like Daisy rules.
Or the outdoor cat.
The latter has been sneaking indoors when we’re not careful, making a beeline for the sofa and curling up like nothing in particular’s out of line. “I’m just here holding down the fort.” Ha, ha, cat. You wish.
In his defense, he’s brought several dead mice to us in the past week. Doing his job. Keeping the mice in line. Staying out of trouble.
It’s hard to tell what’s going on with felines when you’re a homo sapien. Just consider that cats have about forty times the scent receptors in their noses than you or I do. So when I see a furry form in the darkness of the living room, I know that some kitty is crouched over the rug, sniffing whatever dirt-dandelion-decomposing mouse-dare-I-guess-what-that-is?- scent we humans have tracked into the house on the soles of our shoes. We are pretty clueless in that regard.
But we do have the bringing-home-the-kitty-food talents down pat.
Now there’s a twist, something new is up with the feline food routine. With Marbles here, we kept a tight ship – no snacking from her dish; her special kidney-friendly diet was too expensive to share with the other cats.
The outdoor cat’s food, however, is the midline bargain brand for cats with hairball tendencies. It’s tasty, apparently. I haven’t stooped to taste-testing it, since I’m certain, even by the limited olfactory abilities that I have, that it isn’t going to taste good to me.
But the boys love it. It gets meted out to them, a few at a time, like marshmallows were given to us kids at campfire time when we were little. The kitties sit up, they stretch, they spring through the air to high-paw the morsels down to the kitchen floor where they devour them – nom, nom, nom. All gone!
They have learned to beg. And I’m not sure I like it.
I wonder if they would write my column for a treat or two, or three? I’ll keep you posted.