
Is it possible that my cat, Smokey, is a bored cat? I mean, really, do you think cats get bored? Dogs get excited about things and jump around and bark and are always underfoot. Cats, however, seem to simply drift through life sleeping, bathing and occasionally taking a stroll from one room to the next or even (in the case of my cats) into the backyard. But really, how exciting can that be?
Smokey has been following me around all day crying. Why? I have no idea. Is the water dish full? Check. Is there crunch (we don’t call it dry food — how appetizing would that be?) on the blue plate? Check. Is the cat door accessible — I mean not blocked by a chair or something? Yep, it’s clear. In Smokey’s case that really doesn’t mean much. She won’t use the cat door anymore since Lop Ear came to live with us. He’s a big cat — my cat-sitter, Susie, calls him “The New Sheriff in Town.” And he pretty much is. He walks like a sailor, he sleeps in the best places like the dining room chair where he can keep an eye on the cat door. Anybody using it is subject to a smart remark and maybe a slap on the rump., and he cleans up the food the other cats don’t eat. He’s no dummy. He lived on the street for a long time. Food does not go uneaten in his world.

Lop Ear actually talks to the other cats. I think he sounds civil — sometimes even cordial — but I don’t speak Cat, so I wouldn’t know, would I? Smokey hisses at him whenever he says something. I tell her to stop that and she glares at me like, “you have no idea, do you?” And, uh, I have to admit I don’t. I understand cats have a vocabulary of about 100 sounds. Seems like a lot, but think about this: humans have a vocabulary that far exceeds 100 sounds, but my cats know quite a few words. There’s “Tuna,” “Outside,” “Dinner” (which means breakfast, too), “Get Down!” “No!” and, of course, “Treat.” I don’t know a single word of Cat. Which of us is smarter? I’ve been told that cats can also understand up to 50 commands. They don’t do them, of course, but they understand them.
Oh, I forgot one word Smokey knows that the others don’t: “Egg milk.” It started when I would make French toast for breakfast and one day I asked Smokey if she would like the left over batter — the egg milk. That got a definite “Meow!” even though she didn’t know what I was talking about. They say milk isn’t good for cats, but then ice cream isn’t good for humans, either, but we eat it. So every now and then Smokey gets a little bit of left-over egg milk. I have turned her into a little monster, however. Whenever she hears me crack an egg, she’s there rubbing my ankles and crying. If I’m scrambling eggs for breakfast there is no peace until I put a little bit of liquid egg in her saucer. I’ve given up sunny side up or over easy. If I’m gonna share them, they have to be scrambled. I once tried making up a bowl of egg-milk and putting most of it in the ‘fridge for her to have during the week. When I put a bit of that in her bowl the next day she was, like, “What are you trying to pull? This isn’t fresh.” Guess I’ll be having French toast for breakfast.
But back to today. She was definitely trying to tell me something. “Smokey, what’s wrong, girl?” Then suddenly the light bulb went off. “Wait!,” I told her, “I got it! It’s Timmy! Smokey — is that it? Timmy’s stuck in the well?”
But that can’t be. I don’t know anyone named Timmy, nor Tim, or even Timothy. And come to think of it, I don’t have a well, either. As I pondered this conundrum, Smokey just looked at me like I was the dumbest being on the planet, turned, stuck her tail in the air (she doesn’t have fingers, you understand), and marched out of the room.
I’ll never know. I just hope that somewhere someone named Timmy isn’t stuck in the well. Again.
Love this! 100 sounds huh? Interesting. 🐈🐱🐈
Well, that’s what “they” say. Imagine actually trying to distinguish!
It sounds like you don’t play with your cats. That’s what they’re telling you. I haven’t met a cat that didn’t like to play — even my 16-year-old Charlotte. And it’s good exercise. Their days should consist of hunt-catch-kill-eat-groom-sleep. Yours are outdoor cats so, unless they get their hunt-catch-kill outside, maybe they want a little help from you. I’ve found the sticks with bird feathers are universally loved.
Smokey has arthritis and moving is difficult, so playing doesn’t interest her. The problem, I think, is that she can no longer jump. She used to sit in the window here in my office and look out, but even when I offer to lift her, she backs off. She does go out and sit in the front yard (behind a bush where she is nearly invisible from the sidewalk) and watch the goings-on. I believe the problem that particular day what that someone — who could it be? — forgot her morning treats. Bad Cat Mommy!!
You could always install a well in your yard and see what happens?
I enjoyed the cat lore and speculation about what it is that cats want?
Maybe some of the fun of cats is trying to figure out the mysteries of their behavior and endlessly unknowable personalities . . .
You are right about the mysteries. I read somewhere that cats like to have a private place all to themselves. Black Jack is an expert at that. I finally realized that finding his hiding places is somehow in violation of his privacy. The last one I discovered, I didn’t let him know I knew about it and sometimes he still goes there — the very back of the closet behind my bags of yarn.
Hahaha. Timmy’s in the well! MeOW!
If only I were smart enough to learn a few words of Cat!