"You talk about your kids a lot."
"It's not the same thing."
"My Maine Coon flushed a seven inch long alligator lizard down the front hall toilet."
"..."
"It's exactly the same thing."
As most people know, I live with cats. One Siamese and one Maine Coon, to be precise. They are blazingly intelligent, easily bored, and utterly spoiled in the way that only blazingly intelligent cats with indulgent owners can ever get (since dumb cats never realize how much they can actually get away with). This means that my life is never boring, although I do occasionally have to tell people I can't go out, the cats are requiring me to stay in. This is not an ironic statement. The cats are fully capable of hiding my keys, my glasses, and—on one impressive occasion—the contents of my underwear drawer. Contrary to popular belief, I am not going to walk to Safeway without a bra, socks, or panties. Just no. Also, the cats like to unplug my alarm clock when they feel that I've been out of the house too much. They dislike the alarm, they like me sleeping in, problem solved!
Smart cats are their own problem. Smart cats with extremely clever paws are occasionally a circle of hell.
Yesterday morning, I was in such a hurry to get out of the house that I forgot to check the level of food in the cat bowls. Now, my girls each have their own bowl, although they're fed side-by-side, to prevent Lilly eating Alice's food to show dominance. (They still occasionally trade food, but it's just that: a trade. It's like watching kids swap pudding cups.) Alice gets Royal Canin Maine Coon blend; Lilly gets Royal Canin Picky Bitch, which is technically named something like "sensitive feline," but let's get real. When you have to feed this stuff to your cat, your cat is picky. Very, very picky. Royal Canin makes Siamese blend, but Lilly doesn't like it. When given Royal Canin Siamese, Lilly eats all of Alice's food, and since Alice prefers Royal Canin Maine Coon, Alice proceeds to harass me until I feed her the right stuff...which Lilly then proceeds to eat. So it's Maine Coon and Picky Bitch blends for my girls.
Anyway, upon arriving home yesterday evening, I was met at the door by two very angry cats who wanted to lecture me on my failure to feed them. They told me I was a bad pet owner. They told me I had Done Them Wrong. They kept telling me as I filled their dishes...and they then did not eat, as they were too busy telling me what a horrible person I was. Seriously. Alice even took some kibble from the dish and dropped it on my foot to illustrate the point that I Had Failed Them, and I Needed To Apologize. I apologized. I stroked them. I made soothing noises. I brushed Alice. I let Lilly have my purse (which she promptly began to chew on). I hung my head in shame. Satisfied, they finally ate.
I woke up this morning with kibble on my pillow. I am not yet forgiven.
"Alice, why don't you let me use the remote?"
"Mrrrrrrr."
Last night, while watching Bones, I got a lapful of Lilly. This is normal. Lilly proceeded to flop onto her back, stretch out, and cross her ankles, looking like a coney prepped for roasting. Also normal. Alice, meanwhile, hopped up onto the empty couch cushion, sat on her rump with her tail sticking out to one side, and started grooming. Still normal. Then she leaned over, took the remote off the couch, and cuddled it like a teddy bear. And refused to give it back to me. No matter how nicely I asked her.
Tragically, this is still normal. The only way to get the remote back was to give her the DVD remote instead...and that's why the DVD tray was sliding in and out and in and out for the next twenty minutes, as the cat happily played with the "eject" button.
There is a reason I talk about my cats as much as I do. Because if I didn't, none of you would have any warning on the day when they finally decided to conquer your puny planet.
Run while you can.
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