I ran out of cat food this morning. It happens once or twice a year. And it’s always a disaster. I had just enough food for Mini and Micro Scaredy and Fatty. So I was hoping Moo Cat wouldn’t show up.
But no. Here she comes, and meowing up a storm. She’s HUNGRY. Moo Cat thinks if she just meows at me long enough, or jumps on my head enough, or claws at my backpack enough, I’ll get it through my thick skull and realize she’s hungry and fix her her breakfast. Pronto.
I patiently try to explain to her that no matter how long or how loud she meows at me I still won’t be able to conjure up cans of cat food out of thin air. But — as usual — the dumb beast refuses to understand simple English. And continues to get more and more exasperated by our Failure to Communicate. I crawl under the covers to try and block out her barrage of righteous indignation.
Finally I get up and scrape some of the bits of food that were wedged on the bottom of the empty cans of chunk chicken. And I scraped off some of the leftover food that was stuck on the sides of the other cat’s food dishes. So at least Moo Cat got a little something..
Then I made a hasty exit down an alternate trail to avoid having Moo Cat pestering me every step of the way down the hill.