During the absence of his
mistress the Grey Cat has revealed an aspect of personality that I truly
hoped would remain hidden in a dark recess of his heart. He is in
those first tentative stages of a process that will result in an appalling
dominance over me.
cats, distant cats, cats we used to share space with, usually achieved
this level of association with my dinner bowl in the latter part of their
middle age. I have experienced ice cream cats, chicken cats, and
cats that are willing to eat anything, so long as it comes from my bowl,
rather than from their bowl.
that blame should be assigned to those moments of weakness around the
kitchen sink which can result in - "Oh look he likes green
beans!" And here I think it only correct to point out
that I have never been personally responsible for circumstances that
result in such fragile and cooing expression.
But there are some aggressive minds
which will insist that the fault is mine because I prefer to eat on my knee
in the comfort of an arm chair, rather than surrounded by knives and forks
and wooden surfaces.
Yet I have been at this impasse
before. A peaceful reverie during feeding time that becomes
struggle. A familiar and time worn procession of events that always
begins with a declaration that I will never eat standing up. This is
followed quickly by the suggestion that I would never dream of eating from
the Cat's bowl. Then in ultimate frustration a loud and furious
"go away." But these declarations, these adjectives of
intent have always been a brief and pointless interlude.
Soon there will be a swaggering Grey Cat
with his own bowl by my chair.