Cat Show

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There go the cats, streaking urgently out the door.

"Don't pet me!" their intensity shouts in annoyance as I stoop to stroke the tip of a silky tail. Fwooosh, they're outahere.

Okay then, I say to myself. Go get the coffee, settle in to watch the cat show in the back yard. Ha. No cats. When I want to watch, they don't show. Sigh. I cannot even remotely imagine how a cat could be taught to perform on cue, like the tigers at Marine World. Cats only please themselves, unlike dogs who love to please their humans. If a cat happens to do what I'm trying to get her to do, it's coincidence only. I must remember that and not mistake her behavior for obedience. If I naively try to get her to repeat a particular action, like come, for instance, she gives me The Look, and either departs or does the statue thing.

I find the statue thing quite fascinating. Ah, there they are now, posing. Snowball is in the classic sphinx position on the fence, sleek in profile, pure white and sublimely decorative, not a whisker moving. Tiger crouches under the wrought iron table, eyes half shut. His puff tabby fur lifts gently in the breeze. When did they sneak back into view and why didn't I see them? Cats may be space travelers after all, beaming in and out at will while we and the scrutable animals plod around here in this other dimension. No wonder they wince at our noises. Their space is probably full of cat Mozart and silence.

Ah. There she goes after that squirrel I didn't see. White streak up the tree, leaves rustling wildly, briefly. Back she comes in defeat, as always. She licks her paw and flops in the dirt. Tiger never moved a muscle. They don't catch the squirrels, but they love that chase. I see the squirrel up high in the tree, shaking the leaves at her.

"Nyah, nyah, come and get me!" he teases. She ignores him. They only chase on their own terms. Well fed house cats don't have to chase if they don't feel like it. Their urge is strictly sport and instinct.

Tiger is at the sliding glass door , looking at me expectantly.

"Let me in," he mrowws. I get up and slide the door open for his royal self. He trots to the food dish. I close the door and sit down. Now Snowball is at the door.

"Let me in!" she mrowws with some urgency. Okay, okay, I get up, open the door. Snowball enters slowly as if to thunderous applause. I wait patiently for her tail to come in with her, close the door, sit down.

"Mroww?" He's back at the door now.

 I ignore him.

"MROWW!?" And again I'm up, opening the door. Snowball? I entreat her to consider going out at the same time as her brother.

"Crunch, crunch, crunch." She crouches intently over the kibble, ignoring me. I sit down. This is the signal, no?

"Crunch, crunch." Guess not. I pick up my pen, sip the coffee, stretch my feet into a sunbeam. Ahhh.

"Mroww." She glares at me from the door. "Let me out Now." And I do, resigned to my position as door opener. She gracefully glides out as he dashes in. They do this a few more times, then they're gone.

Well, maybe not gone, but not visible to me.

When I go out to water the plants I see her hidden in the ivy, little white ears poking up, ready for sleeping as cats are, off and on all day, every day.

But cat sleep is not like our sleep. Oh, no.
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