Road Apples by Tim Sanders
Sept. 13, 2010
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Lost in thought, or just catatonic? Last week I wrote a column explaining the workings of a dog’s brain. In that column I made the mistake of stating that unlike our dog, our cat Sylvia is incapable of thought. Not surprisingly, a host of readers (two) contacted me, arguing that they have cats, and that their cats are capable of very complex, sophisticated thought processes, thank you very much! Approximately fifty percent of those cat lovers (one) even demanded that I print a retraction in this week’s edition. After watching our cat Sylvia for over seventeen years (only sporadically, not continuously), I guess I’ll have to admit that Sylvia is capable of thought. Here are some examples of how she uses that magnificent instrument cat lovers call a mind: 5:35 A.M. - [Sylvia awakens and looks around the deck. She thinks of something fun to do, all by herself.] “Everyone in the house is sleeping. I believe I shall squall.” 5:36 A.M. - “They’re still sleeping. I must increase the volume.” 5:38 A.M. - “AHA, I hear someone stirring in there. Daddy is cursing. I can go back to sleep now.” 8 A.M. - “Oooh, Mommy and Daddy are in the kitchen. I must strut back and forth across the deck, emitting my endearing MRRRRROWL sound over and over again until they come and feed me. If that doesn’t work, I’ll jump up on the window sill and stare at them. It makes them nervous.” 8:03 A.M. - “Mmmm. That was delicious. I’m stuffed. Full as a tick. Couldn’t eat another bite. I believe I’ll just lie down in the sun for an hour or two and–WAIT, there’s a birdie on the grill. Wren, I believe. One of God’s loveliest little creatures. I think I can snatch him, eat him, and then urp him up on the deck for Mommy and Daddy. I can tell they really appreciate leftover bird parts by the great fuss they always make.” 9-11:30 A.M. - [Nap] 12:30 P.M. - “Look, Mommy and Daddy are eating lunch. Time for me to sit down in front of the sliding glass door, raise my hind leg straight into the air, and carefully bathe my hindermost parts. If I time it right, I can finish about the same time they do. 12:31 P.M. - [Sound of blinds being closed] “You’d think Daddy would show more appreciation for good hygiene.” 1 P.M. - [Another nap] 3:15 P.M. - [Sylvia suddenly awakens, leaps into the air and spins around, tail swishing violently] “WHAT WAS THAT?” [Gnat flits past] “Oh.” 3:30 P.M. - [Bath time again] “I’m such a beautiful creature. It’s all this luxurious long hair. They call it Persian hair. Wears my tongue out, sometimes. Mommy tried to bathe me once, but instead of using her tongue like any reasonable person would, she tried to stick me into that stupid galvanized tub. It was full of water, but I showed her. Humans can move very fast when they have to.” 3:50 P.M. - “HACK, HACK, HACK - urp - HACK, HACK - urp, urp. MRRROWL, I do believe those are two of the most attractive hairballs I’ve ever produced. I’ll leave them here on the deck. Mommy and Daddy will be very proud.” 4 P.M. - “HACK urp HACK urp HACK, HACK, HACK!” 4:15 P.M. - [Another nap, during which Sylvia has that same nightmare that has haunted her for years. The one about her sleeping comfortably under the hood of the old Ford F-150 when suddenly most of the hair on her lovely tail is removed by the radiator fan when some homicidal maniac starts the engine without looking under the hood first. She awakens and immediately checks her tail.] “Whew!” 5 P.M. - [Daddy carries a box out onto the deck. He acts as though it is heavy. Sylvia immediately runs to help him by darting back and forth between his feet as he heads for the steps. This encourages Daddy. Once, several years ago, it encouraged him to tumble down the steps face first onto the lawn. He got very excited and thanked her profusely, several times. By name. No such luck this time.] 5:23 P.M. - [While pondering the age-old question of why it is that humans have never mastered the art of falling off roofs or decks and landing on their feet the way cats do, Sylvia has another thought. This thought involves toileting chores. She moves with alacrity, yet proper feline dignity, to her own personal spot near the house, where there is no grass, only dirt. She accomplishes her duty, walks a few feet away, and attempts to cover her latest contribution by scratching dirt behind her in an altogether different direction than where it should go. The main point here is to cover SOMETHING up. That’s all that matters.] 7 P.M. - “MRRROWL, MRRROWL, MRRROWL!” [Suppertime] 7:12 P.M. - [Dog comes out of house. Has toileting in mind. Sylvia is an outside cat, and Maggie is an inside dog. Sylvia deeply resents this, and takes every opportunity to annoy Maggie by following her around while she attempts to find just the right spot to answer nature’s call, and by occasionally swatting at her to let her know when she’s miscalculated. When Maggie is done, Sylvia rushes up the steps to the deck and sits there, tail swishing, daring Maggie to come up. This is great fun. For Sylvia.] 8 P.M. - “MRRROWL, MRRROWL, MRRROWL, etc.” [This continues for fifteen minutes, after which Sylvia scratches several deep grooves into the deck railing. No particular reason.] 9:30 P.M. - [Lots of strutting, tail at full mast just in case somebody’s looking. Then a short nap.] 10 P.M. - [Another nap. The frequent naps are what allow Sylvia to wake up the entire family and selected neighbors in the wee hours of the morning, gracing her audience with that song she composed about things a neutered cat can do at 4 A.M. As she drifts off to sleep she reminds herself how lucky they all are to have her.] |