by Kevin Burton
The omnivore and the acrobat inhabit the same spaces, but not the same mind.
Their motivations differ. Their capabilities and culpabilities are diverse. Sometimes I’d like to see these felonious felines get their tails in jail. My wife Jeannette agrees.
Who knocked over the framed beep baseball picture that is (supposed to be) on top of the cabinet where we keep our VHS and DVD movies?
That would be Lakin, the acrobat. On her first day at the Chateau Burton, she ascended to the lofty heights on a basement window. That access was gained via not one but two pieces of furniture she was not supposed to be on.
Ignorance of the law, I accepted as an excuse on that day, but no more. She knows better now. I caught her up there again not long ago and she ran for her life, or less hyperbolically, her dryness. She gets a squirt from a little spray bottle when she does this. She gets several squirts if it takes me 15 minutes to catch her.
Who cat-apulted the remnant bones from my Buffalo Wild Wings dinner across the television end of the living room, while I was paying attention to my fantasy football players in action?
That would be Ronnie (Veronica), the omnivore. Ronnie wants her dinner – now! She wants my dinner, your dinner. She wants it all.
She smelled chicken and dived in, not knowing it was nothing but bones. It was worth a chance, right?
Ronnie has a temporary form of blindness as she begs for the Fancy Feast when her bowl is full of dry Purina Cat Chow. (Incidentally, if you know one or more Fancy Feast variety flavors by the color of the label, without actually reading the can, you might be a cat daddy/mommy)
As she sniffs the floor of the kitchen we just vacated, we imagine she is a mathematical genius, calculating that surely a certain percentage of food will be dropped by even the most careful of humans.
The omnivore and the acrobat are not pals. Ronnie was here first and serves as the alpha. Lakin and her presence and competition for our attentions, annoys Ronnie. More than once I have seen Lakin approach Ronnie in a gesture of friendship, only to have Ronnie stare at her.
I’ve seen those two luxuriating in the afternoon sunlight at extreme ends of the sunbeam – one next to the window, the other back by or even under, the piano bench.
This makes me sad. I wish they could be good friends, not just grudging acquaintances. But maybe I should just count my blessings. If they did get along, God knows what they would get up to.
Lakin doesn’t care about people food really. But she could grab things off the counter for Ronnie, if they communicated and were friendly.
Their professional careers, if they only had thumbs? Lakin as a trapeze artist. Ronnie as a competitive eater, or on a more highbrow plain, a restaurant critic. These are the pastimes I’d be paying for were they human girls.
They are united in wanting our attention. That makes me think they love me beyond my role as provider of food. I can use the affirmation just now, so I’ll take it.
Ronnie shows affection by licking, as a dog would, Lakin by kneading or “making biscuits.”
They are also united in making that guttural “hear ye, hear ye, I’m about to puke” noise at what is always in an inconvenient time.
What is a convenient moment for cat puke? None really. Maybe when I am changing the cat litter and already have on my blue plastic gloves. Please limit your barfing to Sundays, girls!
For all I know, the omnivore and the acrobat are hovering outside my closed office door right now, waiting for me to come out and provide food and/or entertainment. As for me, I feed therefore I am.
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