Mister Resister

More often than not, when I sit at the dinner table with J, the repast ends with an attempt by our cat, Kaboodle, to sit on my lap. Sometimes I rebuff this action. These are times when the day has been long, I am tired, or otherwise preoccupied by some project that remains unfinished.

Other times, I welcome the visit. Quality time with a cat is not something to be taken for granted. Of the four cats, only Kaboodle finds the time to sit on me, or make the attempt, on any regular basis. Evil, the gray cat and master of perverse behavior, greets me in the morning, but only because I am the first one up, and he thinks there is a possibility that I will feed him some treat that I would not dare to give to the others. Even so, his greetings are confined to touching my calf with his tail, and walking between my legs as I try to navigate the kitchen. If all other methods fail, he plops down across what he knows will be my path, and waits.

Kaboodle knows that I am not to be trifled with in the morning. I have an early start in order to get to my job to check the computers before the staff begin to arrive and use them. There is no place for trivial pursuits, such as opening cans of tuna or spreading treats on the floor.

Evil's behavior is in no way endearing. It is a sign of a desperate attempt to gain mastery. He has conquered others in this house. On more than two occasions I have stepped in a bowl of milk that I didn't see, placed on the floor under the overhang of the kitchen cabinet. Once, a can of some kind of meat by-product flew down the basement stairs as a result of similar unfortunate placement. And, since I am the one who spills these victuals, it falls to me, morally at least, to clean them up, thereby subtracting even more minutes from the total available to complete my autopilot morning rituals.

I learned that the milk was a distraction offered up in order to allow the giver a chance to prepare food in relative peace, which is to say, without having to step over a recumbent cat several times.

Given these circumstances, perhaps I should lighten up a little on Kaboodle. She does wait until dinner is nearly over, or my legs are uncrossed, whichever she notices first. She keeps her distance in the morning but greets me with her tail a furry question mark and summons up a squeaky meow whenever I come home. And she is very soft.

But answer me this: why do cats seek out and suck up to the person in the family who is most allergic? I guess they understand that our immune systems are already weakened, so our resistance is lowest.