“No, I’m not going to give you food.”
“Let me finish my shower! Then I’ll give you some food!”
“You’ve got plenty of fat to get you through the long, hard, 5 minutes ahead. I just need to finish putting on regular clothing, then I will give you food!”
I shudder sometimes when I think that my neighbors may hear the conversations that I have with my cat. Oliver isn’t able to talk, but he communicates very well. Unfortunately, this means that anyone listening only hears my side of the conversation. They don’t see that Oliver sits there, staring at me expectantly, attempting to butter me up by rubbing himself against me, and then trotting off towards the laundry room (where his bowl is) every time I move, only come back a moment later looking annoyed when I don’t follow him.
My neighbors probably think I’m walking around refusing to give my pregnant wife food; and not only am I starving her, but I’ve just implied that she is fat! (for the record, she isn’t). They probably think I’m abusive, and that I keep my wife huddled in the corner, curled into a starving little ball. Little do they know that I actually spend most of my time at home serving a cat hand and foot (paw and foot?).
“I fed you this morning already!”
“Stop lying to me, you still have food left in your bowl. You won’t win, Oliver!”
Eventually, even I know when I’m beat. I finally fed Oliver tonight. He acted like he hadn’t ate in about 3 years.