Peg Herring's Blog - Posts Tagged "cats"
I Want to Be a Cat
In my next life, I want to be a cat. The three things that matter to them are also important to me: napping, cleanliness, and play.
I could look much nicer if I spent roughly 20% of every 24 hours on grooming.
I would be less stressed, more alert, if I spent time every day exercising my muscles, honing my senses, and enjoying activities with no required result.
And if I could, in the middle of either grooming or playing, drop off to sleep for a while, I just know I'd wake refreshed and ready for ... more of the first two.
I could look much nicer if I spent roughly 20% of every 24 hours on grooming.
I would be less stressed, more alert, if I spent time every day exercising my muscles, honing my senses, and enjoying activities with no required result.
And if I could, in the middle of either grooming or playing, drop off to sleep for a while, I just know I'd wake refreshed and ready for ... more of the first two.
The Incredible Vomiting Cat
Authors often brag about their pets, and I guess it's time you met Alice, the IVC. Cats don't have opposible thumbs, voiceboxes, or much of a thought process, but Alice does a lot with what she does have: vomit.
First, Alice communicates with vomit. When we're getting ready to eat a meal, she assures us that we do not need to set a place for her at the table. A pool of barf says quite clearly: "I've already eaten."
Second, she uses her talent as a teaching tool. How else did we learn to ALWAYS put our slippers on when wandering the house at night?
Third, our cat compensates for her inability to express herself verbally or in writing. Nothing says, "I'm upset because you left me home alone all day," like a pile of half-digested Special Kitty. And how else would she tell us that she hasn't been getting enough attention? The sound of ralphing in the kitchen is sure to bring someone to see what's (coming) up.
As with all artwork, placement is important. Alice used to like our bed for her little messages, but since we banned her from there, she chooses to vary her offerings: the cream-colored living room carpet, the back of the couch ( for a nicely draped visual effect), a secluded windowsill where it won't be found for days, and the small rug in the kitchen, apparently a test of her aim. If we anticipate (from ominous sounds) an upchucking episode, we've given up trying to catch her and put her outside in time. It just spreads the joy, usually up the stairs and down the hallway.
The vet says Alice is perfectly healthy, and she's been doing this for at least fifteen years, so it doesn't seem to be a medical issue. It is simply her way of keeping us in line, and we've responded well. We are trained to jump to Alice's command, always ready with paper towels and the Little Green Spotlifting Machine.
First, Alice communicates with vomit. When we're getting ready to eat a meal, she assures us that we do not need to set a place for her at the table. A pool of barf says quite clearly: "I've already eaten."
Second, she uses her talent as a teaching tool. How else did we learn to ALWAYS put our slippers on when wandering the house at night?
Third, our cat compensates for her inability to express herself verbally or in writing. Nothing says, "I'm upset because you left me home alone all day," like a pile of half-digested Special Kitty. And how else would she tell us that she hasn't been getting enough attention? The sound of ralphing in the kitchen is sure to bring someone to see what's (coming) up.
As with all artwork, placement is important. Alice used to like our bed for her little messages, but since we banned her from there, she chooses to vary her offerings: the cream-colored living room carpet, the back of the couch ( for a nicely draped visual effect), a secluded windowsill where it won't be found for days, and the small rug in the kitchen, apparently a test of her aim. If we anticipate (from ominous sounds) an upchucking episode, we've given up trying to catch her and put her outside in time. It just spreads the joy, usually up the stairs and down the hallway.
The vet says Alice is perfectly healthy, and she's been doing this for at least fifteen years, so it doesn't seem to be a medical issue. It is simply her way of keeping us in line, and we've responded well. We are trained to jump to Alice's command, always ready with paper towels and the Little Green Spotlifting Machine.
