the cat who cried wolf

my cat, simba, is a talker. he’ll slink through the house mrowring on a loop.

when we first got him we thought he was just lost. we’d be in the bedroom and he’d by walking his track crying up a storm and thought, ‘he can’t find us,’ so we’d yell, “we’re in here!”

after over a year of this, we’ve come to realize that’s just simba. he’s a talker.

but he does this cat thing that probably all cats do. they hang out below you, concentrate on your feet, and if even one toe twitches in the direction of the kitchen, they jump up and start heading to the feeding trough as if to say, “time to feed the kitty. follow me.”

simba does this. but he does it all.the.time! whether the food bowl is empty or the food bowl is full, count on simba to tell you it’s “time to feed the kitty.”

he’s especially adamant when i get up in the morning and when i walk in the door from work in the evening. that’s food time and simba is a creature of habit. even if there are kibbles staring back up at him from the bowl, he must have his ritual. i will go through the actions of feeding him while really only adding a few more bits. but it makes him happy.

the ritual i get.

but then there’s those totally random moments where he does it. and i think, ‘gosh maybe they’ve really eaten everything up and he’s still hungry,’ so i peek and... bowls are full.

he so cries wolf! and he stands there staring at me telling me “time to feed the kitty” with an earnest look on his face.

seriously? i think he’s messing with me. i think he’s putting me through a drill or something.

next time, i will not get up, i will not follow him into the kitchen, i will not i will not i will not.

gotta run. simba’s calling.

(does rosetta stone teach ‘cat’?)