Cats: Part II


Continuing . . .

I had to fly to San Francisco — at one time my favorite city, but no more — to attend two days of meetings.  Meetings are a great place to meet people and make friends, but a terrible place to get any work done, and maybe that is why we have so many meetings.  We meet and plan so often that we hold additional meetings to discuss the other meetings and plan the plans.  

While living and working in Las Vegas, I was once commanded to attend a four-hour meeting in Washington D.C.  This took three days to accomplish: one day to fly there and stay over, a second day to attend the afternoon meeting and stay over, and a third day to fly back.  You justify that; I can’t.  And on an aside, the worst day of my life occurred on a separate trip to D.C., a 16-hour comedy of errors, each joke played at my expense.  But that is another story. 

Anyway, I could leave during the morning of the first day and return from San Francisco late the second day.  This required a one night stay, and I thought to myself, why don’t I leave Romulus — the vertical blinds Romulus — in the house unattended.  He has his kitty litter box, and I can leave two bowls filled with food and another filled with water.  And in case anything happens, I can lave the toilet seats up.  After all, he is a cat, and cats are solitary, independent creatures who look after themselves.  Also a cat will eat till his hunger is satisfied and no more, leaving food in the bowl until hungry again. If you try this with a dog, he will be lying on his back, paws in the air, stomach extended, bowls empty, before you get out of the driveway.  Dogs have no sense of proportion.  

So I filled the bowls, cleaned the kitty litter box, and took off.  That night I called the house from my hotel room.  There was no one there to answer, but hearing the phone ring would ease my mind, while hearing a busy signal would launch warning flares.  The next morning, before leaving for the second day of meetings, I called again just to reassure myself.  This time I did get a busy signal, so  I tried several times more, receiving the same result. Oops!  Oh,Oh!  I endured the entire meeting worrying whether Romulus had knocked the phone from its cradle or someone had burglarized my home.  Meeting over, I rushed to the airport, flew back, drove home, and upon opening the front door saw the following:

Potted plants and soil strewn across carpet and tile, lamps knocked over, bulbs shattered, clothes yanked from hangers scattered across closet floor, phones off their hooks beeping angrily, and couch cushions upended or torn to shreds.  I would have thought a spy had invaded my house, upturning everything looking for the microchip containing state secrets if not for one additional thing: the toilet paper in the two bathrooms had been pulled off their rolls and wrapped back and forth around furniture across the living room.  It looked like a cross between a spider’s web and a police barricade.  It was at this time Romulus announced his presence long enough to let me know he was responsible, but I was to blame.  Then he went back into hiding.


It took hours to clean the mess, and afterwards all I wanted was a glass of wine — or two or three or an entire bottle — to soothe my aching back.  So I went to the kitchen, uncorked a Cabernet Sauvignon, and opened a cabinet door to retrieve a wine glass from a shelf filled with wine glasses.  It was already too late.  Romulus had been watching me, and as soon as I opened the cabinet door he swooped, jumping more tan 5 feet vertically from floor to cabinet, wrapping himself around the wine glasses, safe in the knowledge that I couldn’t pull him out without breaking many glasses.  His agility was such that, despite the packed nature of the cabinet, not a single glass tumbled, or even vibrated, as he ensconced himself in their midst.  

Then the fun began.  While looking me in the eye with that mischievous, predatory look that says, “You’re screwed!  Watch me!,” he nestled his right paw slightly under the center of gravity of the first glass, flinging it across the kitchen to my right; and as I leaped to catch it, he did the same with his left paw, flinging another across the kitchen to my left.  Back and forth, back and forth— I was playing tennis with a cat, and losing.  He kept this up until he had depleted his supply to the point where he had exposed himself, and I could yank him out without destroying anymore.  As I reached to grab him, he jumped, taking off to parts unknown.  A cat that does not want to be found is a cat that will not be found.  I did not see him again until the next day, at which time he had decided I’d been punished enough.  I lost half the wine glasses he tossed that day.

The point is, I was in the wrong.  I abandoned my cat, and having been wronged, he got even, filing a kind of cat’s grievance. Understand this:  A cat gets even, always, and sometimes does so in destructive, mischievous ways.  Just like people, dogs and cats have a sense of fairness.  You play fair with me, I’ll play fair with you.  Peaceful co-existence!  Don’t play fair and I won’t.  War!  This requires a set of rules that roommates live by.  It makes no difference if all roommates are people or some are animals.  We all want to be treated fairly, even animals.  


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