Fancy is my talker. All day long he "mahrws," "meeps," and "mehs" at me. So, I thought it would be fun to get it on tape. I've been trying to keep my phone handy so I can catch some of the stuff they do and, not only write about it, but show it so people don't think I make this stuff up. The problem is, once I grab my camera, they know it, and usually stop doing whatever it is I want to capture for posterity. That's what happened with what I hoped would be my award winning video of my talking cat.
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| I'm tired. I'll bug you later. |
Literary Detour: I just looked up and there was Dash on top of the rabbit cage, visiting with Roxy. He then moved on to the fridge and tried to figure out if there was a way to get higher by climbing the wall. I got that on film.
So, back to my loquacious kitty. Like I said, our conversations go on all day. With the other guys I kind of have to read their minds and body language. Not so with Fancy. He has quite a vocabulary and when all else fails, he uses his legs and body to maneuver me into place. It almost always has to do with food and treats. Well, mostly treats.
Fancy and I dance around a lot. He leads. I have had to learn how to walk in a straight line with a huge cat doing figure eights around my ankles. I trip a lot. Despite my warning that I am his lifeline, and if he accidentally kills me or causes me to break a hip, he's screwed, the dance goes on. When he has sashayed me into position, coincidentally in front of the cabinet in which the treats are stored, he then uses his "pathetic" voice - pleading with me to grant him a dying wish - chicken treats. He reaches waaay up to grab my hands and put them on the cabinet door. He can open the door himself, but it's more fun to get me to do it. Plus we both get some exercise. (Insert eye roll.)
Once I have taken the treat bag from the cupboard, the game begins. All of the other cats, who were nowhere to be seen seconds before, now magically "poof" into view. Everybody has their favorite spot in which to eat. Eli and Fancy go to the desk; Chance on the bar counter; Finn and Dash on the kitchen table. However, for the partaking of the treats, there's a different routine. Eli is still waiting on the desk; Fancy has his head in the treat bag; Finn wants me to lob one to him, under the kitchen table; Chance doesn't care for the treats so he is oblivious and Dash is running all over the place trying to grab a treat from under the nose of a slower, indignant brother. Chaos ensues.
Send in the dogs. Once Jack and Rooney wake up and catch on to what's happening, they want in on the action. Jack can catch treats in mid-air if I lob them to him. The only problem is, the movement dislodges the strings of drool hanging from his jowls, sending them flying around the room. I have had surprises land in my coffee cup, which is why I waste a lot of coffee.
That scenario is a daily routine. Fancy orders me about all day and for various reasons. He is the one who volunteered to alert me to mealtimes. If the cats want to go out and I would prefer they stay in, oh, say, because it's raining, he leads the charge through my legs and out the door. Fancy follows me around most of the day, unless he's napping. The entire time he is escorting me around the house, he is chatting away. Until I tried to tape it.
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| Dudes, you can thank me for this food. |
I have a lovely video of a handsome cat staring at me, yawning and turning his head around like an owl. And not making one sound. I am chattering away in the background like a loon. "Mommy is going to the store today. What kind of cat food do you want?" Nothing. Just a deadpan stare. "Pweese tell Mama if ooh want tuwkey or chicken." Yawn. "Fancy, talk to Mumma - tell me what you want." That's when he fell asleep right there on the countertop. I doubt there's any interest in a video of a cat blinking, yawning then falling asleep. Oh well.
As I've said before, I love my life. Well, not the constant, nagging pain part, but the other stuff. This morning I had to clean up a hairball, feed everybody before I got any coffee and run after Jack who let himself out because I didn't get up off my lazy butt (his words) fast enough. You know you're screwed when your dog only lets you think you're in charge! But all of that is a piece of cake compared to the crazy people problems I endured at work for nearly twenty years. Bring on a hairball any old day...
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