Pouting Cat

I feel guilty when we go off on our camping trips, leaving our old cat Rascal alone. On Tuesday night, I dreamed that I found him dead when I returned and wondered what to do about it.  I decided I would double bag the body and put him in the freezer until Gary and I could have a suitable funeral.

I told Gary about it the next morning and asked him what I would do if Rascal died. "Put him in the freezer, of course," he said.  We have our plan.

When I returned to Seymour yesterday, I stopped at the grocery store for a broasted chicken thigh, as I always do, to placate Rascal, who was home alone save for my neighbor Elaine coming over to feed him and son Chris stopping in to take care of his litter.

Rascal, who was alive after all, ate the chicken then demanded to be let out to check the perimeter of the property.  He does not approve of Mittens and Koala next door going into the gardens.  

When he came back in he demanded my lap for what Gary calls cat therapy.  He butted at my hands until I scratched his ears for him.

Next, he wanted cat food from a can.  He knows how to communicate his needs, but does not have opposable fingers (thumbs) so he can't open cans or get into the refrigerator. I do have my uses.

Still feeling guilty, I catered to his demands, but by today, he was getting annoying.  I have work to do so he can't be on my lap all the time.  Demanding to be fed four or five times a day is too much.  He has dry food he can work on.

Finally, I used my head and my opposable thumbs to open up yet another can of cat food, but inside was ground up chicken, which he doesn't like.

So now he is sitting here in my office, refusing to eat and pouting with plaintive meows.  It isn't working any more.  Not until I come back from the next camping trip.