Friday, 17 July 2015

Eyes at the back of my head.

Did your mother, like mine, tell you that she had eyes at the back of her head?   I never saw them,  but she knew how to use them.

My cats are learning that I have inherited this reverse sight from my Mum.

Junior cat Adelaide can be a bit whiney, but she is usually well behaved. She occasionally transgresses by trying to sleep on the sofa (forbidden by me on account of her coat shedding).

Of course I never hear her get onto the sofa,  but I wherever I am in the house, I "know"  that she has done so.    My reaction is simple.  I enter the living room, and simply point at her, whereupon she leaps off the sofa.   No words are needed.

Senior cat Ada is more "loving" than Adelaide,  but she is also a bit sneaky.  Here are two examples:

Both cats get a "treat" of a tablespoon full of canned food at 6:45 each morning, and 4:15 each afternoon.  (They know those times, and start prowling and yowling about fifteen minutes beforehand). I have to set out this food in different rooms, Ada's in the kitchen, Adelaide's in the screened in porch.

Ada eats her share immediately.  Adelaide is a more leisurely eater.  She picks at her share, and takes her time.  Ada knows this.  So she will creep into the porch, and inch herself very quietly around the perimeter, in the vain hope that I will not see her snitching the food Adelaide has left.  Of course I always see her, for I have eyes in the back of my head.   A quick click of my fingers, and Ada retreats from the room in shame

She tries the same game with my dog's food.  Penne is also  careful diner, eating some now, and saving some for later.  That which is left is a tempting target for Ada (especially as I usually add a bit of cooked chicken or cooked ground beef to Penne's meal).  Ada loves to pick out those tempting bits.

But I have eyes in the back of my head, and I know what Ada is up to her tricks.  A quick rustling of my newspaper is all that's required to remind her that she is transgressing.


On the canine side, Penne, like her "Dad"  is sensitive and neurotic.  The other day she was putting out all the signs that she wanted her afternoon meal ninety minutes early.  I told her to lie down on her bed.  She did not move.  I told her again.  She did not move.

Then I used my quiet but very firm voice -  and Penne skulked off to her bed, tail between her legs.

I left my home to go to the supermarket.  When I got home, I sat down to read.  Penne trotted up to me, all bashful, and carrying her soft toy in her jaws, as  if to say "here's a present for your Dad, I really am a good girl).

(Or so I thought!).

And you get prattle such as this from me on a day which has been overcast, muggy, and very rainy - and I needed some silly activity to help. me take my mind off the weather.

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