Encore: Let’s play master and servant

Encore: Let’s play master and servant
The über pampered Woody

The über pampered Woody

I have this sneaking suspicion that my cat is just using me. Abusing me, more like it. And I have probably known this for a long time now, but lived in blissful denial.

I have had cats as pets for most of my life. So, I am acutely aware that cats don’t particularly give much of a hoot. As long as they get what they need, I really don’t think they care much from whence it comes.

They need love, care attention (when the mood takes them) and, of course food, water and shelter. I am not sure of the order in which these appear on their wish lists, but there it is…

And anyone who has ever had a cat as a pet knows this is what they sign up for. However, the varying degree with which these peculiar creatures play us humans is mind-blowing. And I love it.

Take my current cat, for example…Woodrow…Woody for short. Now Woody is spoilt to the core. He only drinks water directly from the tap in the kitchen, which has already translated into my having to get up on two or three mornings at 4.30am to open the tap and to watch him drink.

He only eats Hill’s “Perfect (or is that purr-fect?) Weight” pellets. His “Greenies” treats cost a fortune, and he comes runnnnning from whatever hiding place he chose for the day whenever he hears the rattle of the “treats” bag. That is about as much as I have on him. And he, of course, believes he is king of the castle. And for the most, he is.

Take the sleeping arrangements as case in point.

He used to sleep on the bed with me since I got him about a year ago. He would wait until I retire for the night, and then within minutes he would jump up onto the bed with a purry/whistle-like noise and make himself comfortable, also “retiring” for the night…as if he had such a busy day! Retired he may be, until he needs the tap to be opened in the kitchen; or a fresh bowl of food, whichever takes his fancy first.

How dare I expect him to eat the pellets that were left in the bowl from the night before, right? So, of late, I have been getting up any time between six and seven every morning to do food and beverage duty. But that ain’t all, folks…

Afterwards he runs like someone possessed, around the bed, across the headboard, digging his nails into the bedroom’s carpet – all so that I can get up and join him on the balcony to either feed him (individually) a few blades of wheat grass, or for an early brushing of his furry coat while he looks like we sound when we get a good massage. Some days he is all over me, like a dog – following me around the flat, sitting right by me, on the arm of the chair as I work…then other days he ignores me like the plague.

His latest thing is to go to bed when I do, but then to leave in the middle of the night to continue his sleep on my favourite work chair in the lounge. I suspect it has to do with my snoring, or perhaps because he recently turned eight, and wants his own bedroom? Who knows?

Not even the vet is able to tell me why cats do what they do. So, who are we but silly mortals to try and figure them out?

All I know is, I love him to bits. He makes me laugh, keeps me calm and altruistic, and he is so beautiful. I think the adage is true: dogs really do have masters, and cats have slaves!