My or Our Turn

In the case of his being lazy, sitting around and watching television, getting up to stretch his legs, picking up his guitar to literally play just a few chords before putting it back upon the stand, sitting back down again and groaning, and constantly talking to us cats as if we care:  this is Chris’ day.

Hi, my name is Cork, the older of the two of Sarah’s cats.  Due to my high intelligence and spelling capability, I will be the one who is typing today.  Porter, as cute as the little guy is, is not the brightest red dot bouncing across the floor and onto the wall and onto the ceiling.  If it weren’t for my person, err, cat, he would have no habits whatsoever.  When wet food breakfast isn’t getting ready, when it’s being prepared, when attention is definitely needed:  I cry and so does he.  When it comes to looking cute, rolling on one’s back upon the floor and looking up:  it’s all me.

Let me get this straight:  it’s all me, all the time.  I don’t want to play with toys, I want you to, and making you think that it’s the other way around is my bag, baby.  When it comes time to cuddle, you, the humans, come to me.  I’ve got this Chris guy trained.  Porter, on the other hand, goes right up to him and plops any way he feels upon said human’s lap.  When Chris walks around, Porter follows, mewing like a madcat until he gets picked up.  What to I do?  I sit in either of the other rooms and wait for attention to come to me.  In essence:  the human feels bad.

If I’m in the spare room, Chris will come shuffling by–it irritates the hell out of me how he does not or cannot pick up his feet–and he’ll look in to check on me.  That act of kindness is a good thing.  I actually appreciate it.  He’ll see me on the bed and walk over, saying something to me with wide eyes and a crumpled forehead and baby-like.  That, however, bugs the hell out of me.  If you’re going to talk to me, talk to me like I’m an equal.

Anyways, he’ll then try to pet me, but I’ll try to bite his hand.  I don’t want to come across desperate, or in need of attention, because that’s not who I am.  I have to make him work for it.  He’ll tell me, “No, Cork, you best watch yourself.”  I follow with me laughing in my head.  He’ll then tell me to not be a crankypants.  Whatever the hell that means.  The third movement of this sonata is his carefully walking around the bed, trying not to scare or disturb me and lying down next to me.  I wait a couple minutes to savor those scratches behind the ears before cuddling up with the big goober.  By waiting, cats please take note, we make the humans appreciate the love we give them by snuggling up.  It’s best to not let them in on the secret that we feel bad for them and give them benefits for effort.

Seriously.  The only thing these paws cannot do is retrieve the food from the shelf, open said food whether it’s wet food from a tin or dry crunchies from a bag, and refill the water.  Chris does a great job at giving us water, I do admit.  He leaves out a few pint glasses daily, which are the only containers we drink out of; yes, Porter learned this from me.  Unfortunately, Mom scolds his efforts to hydrate us, telling him that he’s leaving too many glasses out.  Poor, human.  He was just being nice.

However, on the other side of the nutrition spectrum, I think he may be putting me on a diet; he doesn’t fill my bowl with crunchies to a superfluous amount.  I should say our, because I am writing for the both of us cats.  Porter, the child he is, knocks his crunchy bits onto the floor, bats them around and plays before eating each bit individually.  I never taught him this.  He’s special.

Porter, however, did teach Chris a trick.  Yes, he did!  Chris will sit on the floor and flick crunchy bits across the floor.  Porter and I…ahem, yes, I did say I…chase and catch the crunchies and consume them.  It’s fun!  Not only do we get to eat, this game is, also, a great opportunity to play, running around and getting exer–

Wait.

That no-good, so-and-so!  Tomfoolery! 

Chris may not be as trained as I thought.  He could be messing with me.  On top of skimping on my food, he’s getting me to exercise!  That dirty–MEOW!–no-good…  Looks like I have more work to do.

Does anyone have any ideas?  The dimwit left the laptop open, so I have my opportune time to gain some allies out in the technological world.  By the way, this spelling and grammar check is working really well for me.  I’m learning a lot!

Unfortunately, I cannot gloat about this new found knowledge for very long.  I have a coup to initiate and my only cohort is a black cat who sings his own theme music and is a sucker for attention.  I know he’d never change sides, but the little guy falls into a comfortable lap and is out for a good amount of time. 

I have to hand it to his coming a long way.  When he first came into my and my mom’s apartment… yes, mine… he was concealed behind a door for about twenty years, I think.  Then finally we were allowed to interact and play.  It was grand.  It was hard to believe he was found outside, in the city.

That’s the main difference between the two of us.  He’s a black cat with a white patch from the streets and I’m part mountain bear from the…mountains.  The humans call me part oscel… I have no idea how to spell it.  I want to say oscillation, but I don’t want to be associated as a fan. 

Pun intended.

Alright, I need to get going before Chris comes back.  It’s been… Well, I have no idea of the conception of time, but all I know is it’s been way too long, maybe an hour or so, it takes me so long to type, since I have cleaned myself.  If you knew me, you know all of the maintenance I have to do to keep this coat…well, maintained. 

In other words, that last paragraph was my beating around the bush about my wanting to go lick my butt.

Until next time, may the alliance grow strong!

– Cork …sigh… and Porter

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