MUSINGS BY JOAN #12
I loved Michelle Obama’s description of strange noises late at night in the White House.
The ruckus turned out be Bo, the new First Dog, playing with his ball. Obviously, he couldn’t care less whose sleep he was disturbing. Pets are the great equalizers in life, even for the President of the United States. I’m not sure about dogs these days, but I do know that with cats, no one is more important in the scheme of things than the “human can opener” .
With that in mind, I believe my cats, Ginger and Wasabi, can tell time. They live on a tight, action packed schedule that brooks no interference from little niceties like Daylight Savings They spring into action every morning at precisely 6am and they have distinctly individual roles to play.
Regardless of whether it is still pitch black outside or the sun is about to rise, morning is heralded by an intense relay race back and forth across my bed, that could literally wake the dead. This feline version of the Kentucky Derby is then followed by Ginger’s role as “official waker upper”, if I am still not showing sufficient signs of leaping up and getting into the kitchen to prepare their breakfast. She never varies from this performance, walking delicately from the foot of the bed, up the length of my body, coming to rest on my chest with her whiskers practically in my mouth. OK, Ginger, I get it. You’re hungry.
Now Wasabi takes over, leading the way into the kitchen, in case I’ve forgotten the route. It’s a family joke that I have an Oriental carpet on my kitchen floor, a sure sign of the amount of cooking I do in that room. Wasabi adores the carpet, throwing himself down and rolling around on his back, waiting for me to perform the morning ritual of standing on one leg and scratching his waiting back with my bare foot. Ginger understands completely that this must be done before I get to the all-important ceremonial opening of the Fancy Feast can..
This is accomplished on the kitchen counter with Ginger hovering over the operation. She is obviously in charge of announcing to Wasabi what’s on the day’s menu, and also to check that I divide the can exactly in half. She really has nothing to worry about since most mornings she eats both halves while he lolls around on the carpet and noshes from the dry food bowl. I can’t understand why he weighs twice as much as she, when she eats twice as much as he.
Breakfast over, it’s time for the entire family to exercise. I get ready to go out to walk as they put in their morning mileage on the free standing carpeted walls at the entrance to the kitchen. The idea is to run up the wall to the ceiling, than leap across to the kitchen counter. Two out of three times they make it across the abyss. It’s a fascinating display of acrobatic skill. Sometimes they hit the counter off kilter and knock everything in the immediate area to the floor. I should buy stock in Crazy Glue. I am forever gluing back together the results of their efforts.
My significant other’s cat, J.W., also tells time, but unfortunately his alarm clock is set for 5am. J.W., like my guys, is a rescue cat that once upon a time fit into the palm of your hand. Did I mention that he weighs in at a mere 25 pounds these days? He has his own unique method of waking his devoted owner (read slave). If nudges of increasing intensity don’t bring the desired results quickly enough, he is wont to take a not-so-gentle nip from his owner’s cheek, followed by a fast leap off the bed, to avoid the whack that he knows is coming. It’s apparently worth the risk, because his “human can opener” is now fully awake and breakfast is forthcoming shortly.
Well trained? Absolutely. They’ve got us right where they want us. Gotta go, now. It’s time for Ginger and Wasabi’s afternoon snack.
# # #
Caption: J.W. in the arms of his favorite human can opener.
I loved Michelle Obama’s description of strange noises late at night in the White House.
The ruckus turned out be Bo, the new First Dog, playing with his ball. Obviously, he couldn’t care less whose sleep he was disturbing. Pets are the great equalizers in life, even for the President of the United States. I’m not sure about dogs these days, but I do know that with cats, no one is more important in the scheme of things than the “human can opener” .
With that in mind, I believe my cats, Ginger and Wasabi, can tell time. They live on a tight, action packed schedule that brooks no interference from little niceties like Daylight Savings They spring into action every morning at precisely 6am and they have distinctly individual roles to play.
Regardless of whether it is still pitch black outside or the sun is about to rise, morning is heralded by an intense relay race back and forth across my bed, that could literally wake the dead. This feline version of the Kentucky Derby is then followed by Ginger’s role as “official waker upper”, if I am still not showing sufficient signs of leaping up and getting into the kitchen to prepare their breakfast. She never varies from this performance, walking delicately from the foot of the bed, up the length of my body, coming to rest on my chest with her whiskers practically in my mouth. OK, Ginger, I get it. You’re hungry.
Now Wasabi takes over, leading the way into the kitchen, in case I’ve forgotten the route. It’s a family joke that I have an Oriental carpet on my kitchen floor, a sure sign of the amount of cooking I do in that room. Wasabi adores the carpet, throwing himself down and rolling around on his back, waiting for me to perform the morning ritual of standing on one leg and scratching his waiting back with my bare foot. Ginger understands completely that this must be done before I get to the all-important ceremonial opening of the Fancy Feast can..
This is accomplished on the kitchen counter with Ginger hovering over the operation. She is obviously in charge of announcing to Wasabi what’s on the day’s menu, and also to check that I divide the can exactly in half. She really has nothing to worry about since most mornings she eats both halves while he lolls around on the carpet and noshes from the dry food bowl. I can’t understand why he weighs twice as much as she, when she eats twice as much as he.
Breakfast over, it’s time for the entire family to exercise. I get ready to go out to walk as they put in their morning mileage on the free standing carpeted walls at the entrance to the kitchen. The idea is to run up the wall to the ceiling, than leap across to the kitchen counter. Two out of three times they make it across the abyss. It’s a fascinating display of acrobatic skill. Sometimes they hit the counter off kilter and knock everything in the immediate area to the floor. I should buy stock in Crazy Glue. I am forever gluing back together the results of their efforts.
My significant other’s cat, J.W., also tells time, but unfortunately his alarm clock is set for 5am. J.W., like my guys, is a rescue cat that once upon a time fit into the palm of your hand. Did I mention that he weighs in at a mere 25 pounds these days? He has his own unique method of waking his devoted owner (read slave). If nudges of increasing intensity don’t bring the desired results quickly enough, he is wont to take a not-so-gentle nip from his owner’s cheek, followed by a fast leap off the bed, to avoid the whack that he knows is coming. It’s apparently worth the risk, because his “human can opener” is now fully awake and breakfast is forthcoming shortly.
Well trained? Absolutely. They’ve got us right where they want us. Gotta go, now. It’s time for Ginger and Wasabi’s afternoon snack.
# # #
Caption: J.W. in the arms of his favorite human can opener.
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