Matters of Life and Death in the Feline World


1. food bowl to remain full
2. water dish -- clear, full, eminently splashable.
3. litterbox clean (or, operators standing by to open doors, windows and other avenues of exit to the outside)
4. attention when, if, and only as desired

Violate too many of those in short order and you may find yourself subject to a severe lesson from the outraged feline.

Take, for example, Number One Cat, Pepper. Pepper is smart. If she had thumbs, I'd hide the keys to my truck. Hell, she doesn't have thumbs and I should probably hide the keys.

Pepper has been subject to some indignities recently. Mom (me) out at all hours, lying down and doing situps instead of remaining stationary as a good heating pad should, reading thick books that take up lap room, not sharing the tuna, visiting friends instead of staying home to pet her and Number Two Cat, Gina.

Oh, the humanity. Or, as she puts it, mrow. (oh, the felinity).

So, this morning, within mere moments of filling the water bowl to its designated degree as specified contractually, I nattered about and paid a few bills, walked back into the kitchen and promptly fell prey to Do Not Mess With The Cat Lesson #1: copious quantities of water on linoleum is both invisible in dim light and very slippery.

I went from vertical to horizontal in 3.8 picoseconds, narrowly avoided breaking my leg or pulling any major muscle groups, and looked up to find the Lady of the House grooming herself in that way that communicates quite clearly that those big clumsy hairless thumbed cats lacking lightning-quick reflexes had better know their place and stick to it, by Bast, or there'll be hell to pay.

I stand, er, lay, corrected.