There used to be a song that went: “Sugar in the morning, sugar in the evening, sugar at super time.” Well, at my house, it’s meow in the morning, meow in the evening, meow at suppertime.
My cat, Little Bear, turned four recently, and she has become a master meow-ologist. She has turned the call of the meows into an art form. There’s an I’m-hungry meow. A meow for attention. An I-want-out meow. And a meow just for the heck of meowing. It’s her way of saying, “I’m Special with a capital S and you’d better believe it.” Her meow-jo is a wonder to behold.
Recently she’s gotten lazy. She’s collected all these meows and recorded them and downloaded them onto my computer, then set an alarm for each meow to go off at the appropriate time. She knows she’s the queen of meow-o-thons; queens don’t make en effort. It would be beneath her.
Now I’m not complaining. When she jumps on my bed in the morning and licks my face, I can’t have a better alarm clock. When I come home at night and she lets me rub her tummy, it’s the best. When she jumps up on my lap and purrs her finest purr, she’s made my day.
After four years, Little Bear and I have become so acclimated to each other we’ve started to taking on a bit of each other’s behavior. When I go to a restaurant, I’ve taken to meowing my order instead of ordering in English. Last weekend I was over at some friends. I dozed off. When they woke me, they said I had been purring. And when I get home from work, Little Bear has been rubbing my tummy. And everybody says that I am beginning to look like her. Can you imagine that?
However there is one thing I Will Not Do. I absolutely refuse to use her litter box. Especially when she won’t clean it.
To my satisfaction.