MEOW! YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME

In ancient days, cats were worshipped as Gods. In my son and daughter-in-law’s home nothing has changed. However, as Mary Bly noted, “Dogs come when they are called; cats take a message and get back to you later.”

Radar is a fifteen-pound, Norwegian Forest Cat, and the spoiled ruler of a house in Fairfax, Virginia.  On his good days, he allows my son and daughter-in-law to share space in some of the rooms in the house, but wherever they are, they have been trained to make room for the “Boss.” Radar thinks they are his entourage.

So, when I walked into the house with my suitcase, Radar walked around me, took one look and decided to wait for his chance to let me know who’s in charge. Yes, I had been there before, but I am sure he remembered that I had locked him out of the guest room, and that I would need some re-training. He found his chance, when, early one morning, the two of us were left to our own devices.

I settled down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, became engrossed in a good book, and totally ignored Radar’s shenanigans. He climbed wherever he knew he was not supposed to roam, but he wasn’t my cat, and I wasn’t about to discipline him, until he suddenly jumped up on the table, and began eating the beautiful flowering cactus I had bought for a centerpiece for Thanksgiving dinner. I moved it to the top of the refrigerator. Turns out that Radar is a high jumper. He flew up to the plant, slipped, and then, pathetically, hung from the top of the refrigerator until he slid down to the floor.

Knowing that my kids would be heartsick if the cat got cactus flower poisoning, I locked the centerpiece in the bathroom. I had lost round one. When I returned, I found Radar sitting on my book with his nose in my cup of coffee. Since I did not know how to move him off the table, I retrieved my coffee, left the book to him and grabbed a magazine.  I won round two.

At that, Radar decided to change tactics. He walked across the table, put his little face close to mine and now we were nose to nose. He stared at me with his mesmerizing green eyes and purred when I petted him. Our battle was a draw.

At that point, I poured a little cream into his bowl, and in no time flat we became good friends. I still didn’t let him into my room, but when he got into trouble, I didn’t tell. But then, with a wink, he didn’t tell on me either.

Since I have returned home, I think of Radar often---especially when I pull long cat hairs off of my black slacks.

Esther Blumenfeld (“Meow means ‘Woof’ in cat”) George Carlin