ZEN AND THE ART OF PEOPLE MANAGEMENT

We all accept that cats are intelligent, wily creatures. Capable of stealth and careful planning - otherwise how would the Fat Girl know to wait until Sparky has oiled her way through the cat-flap for her evening snack of the cat food left-overs, and only then to plant herself largely and immovably on the the step outside. Thus presenting a view through the only exit of a huge black and white moon face that clearly says "Coming out? Through me? Make my day, why don't you?" This triggers panic in the little cat trapped inside and a running around in whingeing circles until one of us gets up and opens the garden door. On looking through from the kitchen side all you can see is a framed picture with an over-innocent expression of "What! What! Threatening? Moi?"

With my old ginger boy you could string together an hour of endearments and loving words, but not until the word "Grub" was uttered would he pay any attention. The clever thing here shows that he recognises only that word from a jumble of others - but why doesn't he understand "Go and get my book from beside the bed..".. or "Answer the door".

I have seen cats on TV opening doors using the handles, opening fridge doors, turning off the TV etc. etc. Other people's cats - true - but still….

If cats are so clever :….

When the doorbell rings why does Biggy the Big Girl run out of the cat flap? Does she think it's for her? A feline follower with fantastic paw and eye co-ordination( and very long legs)? Is it someone she doesn't want to see - the fat cat Income Tax man? Someone trying to sell Fur Insurance? It's not as though it doesn't happen often, the doorbell rings quite a lot in our house. Has anything nasty for her even come through it? No.

Why does she snooze on the bed and then when my husband gets in, snuggle happily up along his back - so oblivious to the snoring that when I come up I have to give her a poke sometimes to see if she's still alive. She acknowledges me, lets me stroke her, purrs loudly - and then when I get into the bed seems unable to connect the me that is showing above the sheets with the lumps that appear under the covers that are my feet. These she attacks with a vigour that is no joke with a cat of her ample proportions. She uses the stiff double- front leg action that polar bears use to break holes in ice floes. I whack at her with the pillow, take evasive action and she still follows the feet - stiff leg jumping and even biting. The more I kick her off - the more fun it is for her. I'm the one with the nibbled toes. It always ends with whacking, colourful language, and her jumping off and going downstairs. Chuckling to herself, I bet. The snorer never moves, of course. And she never goes for his feet, either. And I am wide awake.

How come if they are so clever, then why do they have to wait for me to dish up their dinners? Why aren't they out there in the weather flexing their muscles and being the killing machines that nature intended them to be? Why are they sitting in an over-heated kitchen by their plates and having to give me the eye to open the tins with their breakfasts/dinners/suppers in?

That I slogged out to the shops to buy and lugged all the way home. Like I do several times a week. Like I choose the ones they like and reject the ones they turn their noses up at.

Wait a minute………if I'm so clever…..

Hold on……

 

 

 

© Thelma Mitchell 2003