The Boss

As I’m sitting here, reading my e-mail and doing some blog-surfing, our cat, Autumn, will not shut up.

You see, she’s knows it’s 8:30. And 8:30 means she gets a can of moist food.

I’m telling you, this cat can tell time. It doesn’t matter whether my husband and I are watching tv or eating or reading a magazine, when it’s 8:30, the whining begins.

At first, it sounds cute. A little high pitched “meow.”

Then, she turns it up a notch. She gets cranky and begins to pace around the room, loudly proclaiming, “M-raow!” over and over again. Sometimes she makes an indignant “mmmmmhhhh” sound that sounds like Marge Simpson when she gets frustrated with Homer.

And she won’t give up. She turns to new tactics. It’s like in her little brain she’s thinking, “Hmm, what can I do to annoy them further? Let me see…I know! I’ll walk all over the computer desk and stomp all over important papers and push stuff onto the floor.” So of course she does this, all the while continuing to whine. We yell at her, and she gets down and stops momentarily. But then 2 seconds later, she’s back up on the desk again, this time to put her paws into the little cubby holes and drag the phone bill and computer CD’s onto the floor. We yell at her again.

There is a momentary reprieve as she jumps to the floor and wanders into the kitchen.

Then, all of the sudden we hear a smaller, even higher-pitched voice. “Meh-eh-eh-eh!” It’s our other cat, Hattie. Now we’re in trouble. Between all the pacing and all the “M-raow”s and “Meh-eh-eh-eh”s, we have no choice. It’s time to feed the cats.

Man, who’s the real boss in this house? Who are we kidding? They know it’s them.