No matter how recently she's been fed, no matter how long I brushed her fur and murmured sweet nothings in Her Imperial Ear, no matter how few minutes ago it was that I stopped what I was doing for me and petted her for a solid ten minutes - if I put her down on the floor in a fit of exasperation, O'Keefe adopts the Supreme Martyr Posture and facial expression and sits by my chair with her despairing gaze cast down to the floor. Emanating those evil Martyred Cat waves at me, silently. In her mind, she is the Most Abused, Most Starved, Most Neglected, Most Unloved Cat in all the universe. And I am the Evil Mom doing all those terrible things to her. Simply because I refuse to pet her 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.
SHE DRIVES ME CRAZY!
What -
well, yes, okay, she was the sick one that kept me awake nights about 6 weeks ago because I was so worried she was dying - or worse, I'd have to decide to have her put to sleep.
What's that got to do with it?
my interests, updated: science fiction, mysteries, science, history, and science history; and Paris and writing and sketching and knitting and sewing and, oh, whatever else comes up
2 comments:
There may be no other of God's creatures that are more of a puzzle than cats. Hang in there!
Oh, it's not a problem, just a feature LOL. Sometimes I wish I could read their minds but when I think about that for even a minute, I decide, no no no no. It would be SO alien it'd probably make me insane.
The boy-cat Adams is right this minute fighting with a sunbeam on the stairs to the second floor. It's a fierce battle but he's intrepid.
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