Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Watch Out for Table Scraps

One of my favorite columnists for the San Francisco Chronicle used to, every so often, write a column about his cats.  He would preface that column with a warning: cat column.  So, I'll post a similar warning: cat blog entry.

I have two cats.  Well, actually, 1 ½ cats.  Little Cat divides her time between our house and a neighbor's house...at least, that's what she's led us to believe.  Big Cat rarely leaves home, yet I can never find him.  They are as different as night and day.  The one thing they have in common though is their distrust of table scraps.

We are not in the habit of giving them table scraps.  They are quite happy with their dry food.  Seriously.  So on the rare occasion, when I'm feeling benevolent, I search them out in order to offer them a piece of chicken thinking that they'll be so happy they'll beg for more.  I don't know why I have this expectation, because this is what they do nearly every time: they look at me like I'm trying to poison them.

Even Big Cat – who, believe me, does not miss any meals - views this offering with suspicion.  They begin this weird dance by moving side to side, pawing at the chicken with nostrils flaring like they've both been secretly trained to be drug-sniffing cats.  Then they sit and stare at it for a moment.  This is amusing and exasperating.  “Geez, it's not like it's laced with cyanide!  You can eat a damn cricket or a moth but you won't eat a piece of chicken?!?  WTH is wrong with you two?!?!”  For all I know, crickets and moths taste better than chicken, but that's beside the point.  What's wrong is that I'm offering it to them; they aren't chasing after it nor does it come from their beloved bag of cat food.  Not until they've done their drug sniffing routine can they tentatively take a bite and determine that yes, it's only chicken, and yes, it's pretty darn good.  Don't even ask what they do with ham and cheese.  Damn cats.

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