In Defence of the Cat
Jul. 26th, 2006 06:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kennahijjaBeloved Furry,
On this rare occasion, I'm addressing you to commiserate rather than to, well, express displeasure. But I have to agree – it's godawfully *hot*, close to 40 bloody degrees!
I confess I'm moved to pity when I see you in the shadiest corner of the kitchen balcony, poured into the wall like some curdled fluid, belly half rolled up (see icon to illustrate), eyes closed and with a look of grim, suffering exhaustion on your face. I'm even more moved to pity because every time the bloody blackbirds in the cherry tree spy you there on your balcony, they start screeching down at you three at a time in that unbearable, repetitive craw they also tend to employ at the crack of dawn in the garden when I've just gone to bed and would like to *sleep*, thanks very much! It's really pitiful to see your little face go from suffering exhaustion to suffering offendedness-but-too-knackered-to-even-twitch-an-ear.
So I don't blame you for trotting inside after half an hour of croaking to hide on the kitchen chair under the kitchen table, back turned outward so that it's just impossible do define which particular end of you I'm petting in passing.
I blame you even less for crawling under the living room couch, where it's still warm, but *dark* as well (I guess that helps). Even though that's your traditional 'OMG!thunder/wind/fireworks/passing zeppelin' hiding place and we definitely don't see any of those right now. It does make me wonder why you don't go down into the cellar where it's definitely cool and dark, but I guess it lacks a comfortable place to sleep. Well, it doesn't, there's a perfectly soft blanket on top of the table-tennis table, but yes, you'd have to get *up* there, and that's OMG!work!
Either way, I wish you'd drink more. Ok, make that 'more water'. Because you look like one hot cat, but all you wait for all day long is milk. Now admittedly, you hold your milk well – no throwing up, no diarrhoea, no stomach problems. But still, milk's food, you dolt! Meaning it should not make up the whole of your fluid intake! Oh, yes, I know your *look* whenever you're offered water – royalty asked to muck out a stable would have *nothing* on you. And your body language when you take the tiniest of sips (on a good day) before quitting that place of infamy (i.e. the water bowl) with an expression that can serve as a visual re-interpretation of offended contempt.
Though I tricked your grey hide today! I filled a third of your milk dish with warm water, then made a great show of taking the milk out of the fridge (while you yelled and danced on the floor underneath), poured a bit of milk into the water – just enough to give it a milky look and to get the perfect temperature – presented it to you (while you kept meowing and dancing and circling), and voila! You fell for it, and drank the whole lot!
Now that doesn't work all the time – you've noticed before, and walked away (RE: place of infamy/offended contempt above), although you seem more vulnerable to it later in the day. Since your usual milk time is in the morning, when you're still more alert, I suspect by afternoon/evening you've already given up hope that you'll get any at all, and expectations aren't quite that high any more. That, and I suspect that by then you're bloody *thirsty* if not enough to actually brave the water dish. Oh well, you *do* occasionally, but prefer not to be seen at it, and give people the dirtiest look imaginable if they catch you lowering yourself to the very dregs of, well, drinking matter.
While I still think your attitude to water is quite unreasonable, I certainly understand why, right now, you're again out on the balcony looking like a wet rag laid out to dry... and dry... and dry. Because that's exactly how I feel too – well, apart from the 'wet'.
On this rare occasion, I'm addressing you to commiserate rather than to, well, express displeasure. But I have to agree – it's godawfully *hot*, close to 40 bloody degrees!
I confess I'm moved to pity when I see you in the shadiest corner of the kitchen balcony, poured into the wall like some curdled fluid, belly half rolled up (see icon to illustrate), eyes closed and with a look of grim, suffering exhaustion on your face. I'm even more moved to pity because every time the bloody blackbirds in the cherry tree spy you there on your balcony, they start screeching down at you three at a time in that unbearable, repetitive craw they also tend to employ at the crack of dawn in the garden when I've just gone to bed and would like to *sleep*, thanks very much! It's really pitiful to see your little face go from suffering exhaustion to suffering offendedness-but-too-knackered-to-even-twitch-an-ear.
So I don't blame you for trotting inside after half an hour of croaking to hide on the kitchen chair under the kitchen table, back turned outward so that it's just impossible do define which particular end of you I'm petting in passing.
I blame you even less for crawling under the living room couch, where it's still warm, but *dark* as well (I guess that helps). Even though that's your traditional 'OMG!thunder/wind/fireworks/passing zeppelin' hiding place and we definitely don't see any of those right now. It does make me wonder why you don't go down into the cellar where it's definitely cool and dark, but I guess it lacks a comfortable place to sleep. Well, it doesn't, there's a perfectly soft blanket on top of the table-tennis table, but yes, you'd have to get *up* there, and that's OMG!work!
Either way, I wish you'd drink more. Ok, make that 'more water'. Because you look like one hot cat, but all you wait for all day long is milk. Now admittedly, you hold your milk well – no throwing up, no diarrhoea, no stomach problems. But still, milk's food, you dolt! Meaning it should not make up the whole of your fluid intake! Oh, yes, I know your *look* whenever you're offered water – royalty asked to muck out a stable would have *nothing* on you. And your body language when you take the tiniest of sips (on a good day) before quitting that place of infamy (i.e. the water bowl) with an expression that can serve as a visual re-interpretation of offended contempt.
Though I tricked your grey hide today! I filled a third of your milk dish with warm water, then made a great show of taking the milk out of the fridge (while you yelled and danced on the floor underneath), poured a bit of milk into the water – just enough to give it a milky look and to get the perfect temperature – presented it to you (while you kept meowing and dancing and circling), and voila! You fell for it, and drank the whole lot!
Now that doesn't work all the time – you've noticed before, and walked away (RE: place of infamy/offended contempt above), although you seem more vulnerable to it later in the day. Since your usual milk time is in the morning, when you're still more alert, I suspect by afternoon/evening you've already given up hope that you'll get any at all, and expectations aren't quite that high any more. That, and I suspect that by then you're bloody *thirsty* if not enough to actually brave the water dish. Oh well, you *do* occasionally, but prefer not to be seen at it, and give people the dirtiest look imaginable if they catch you lowering yourself to the very dregs of, well, drinking matter.
While I still think your attitude to water is quite unreasonable, I certainly understand why, right now, you're again out on the balcony looking like a wet rag laid out to dry... and dry... and dry. Because that's exactly how I feel too – well, apart from the 'wet'.
