Recently, I decided to eat at the dining room table like regular people do. Before that, I ate behind closed doors because of the cat. He likes people food, my food in particular. I found that out the hard way when he ran off with the last bit of my sandwich one day.
This hasn’t been easy. He’s tried different tactics. His favorite is to sit beyond my food and slowly stretch his paw toward it. He’s gone after chicken (not a surprise), a biscuit (a little puzzling), and salad (he hates lettuce but likes Ranch dressing). While I eat, I typically read, too. So, I must remain vigilant, watching out of the corner of my eye, for these encroachments. When he attempts, I rebuke him, sometimes placing him on the floor.
His second favorite tactic is to lay on my lap while I eat. He’s warm and sometimes starts purring while I pet him. Instead of using a paw, he slowly moves his head toward my plate, sometimes crossing the plane of my dish, especially if I get engrossed by my book.
He’s more difficult to stop this way, so he gets put on the floor more often until he settles down and naps on my lap.
I figure it’ll take only a couple of more weeks until this is a habit for him. Then, I’ll be able to eat in peace.
* * *
While the male overunit is away from the computer, I’d like to say that my powers of persuasion have gotten him to the table for his meals. The wonderful table that I can easily reach in a variety of ways.
To give him a sense of accomplishment, I sit on the other side of his plates and sloooooowly reach out with my paw. He has to see it. C’mon, I can’t go any slower. See what I’m doing. Ah, he finally notices me, and now, I’m on the floor.
And now, I’m on his lap. He loves this because I’m warm. I love it because I’m so much closer to the food. I slowly move my head over the plate, the chicken getting closer and closer. And damn, I’m on the floor again.
Once again, I jump up and lay on his lap. I’ll be good tonight. I keep it up for the next few nights. I’ll lull him into a false sense of security, and then, the chicken will be mine.
I’ll get him trained yet. I have to go he’s coming back. He’s in a hurry–I bet that he publishes this without proofreading…
Brightspot, the Ruler of the House