Once again, I have unwittingly taught a cat
a trick. But I never realized it until I was away on vacation,
living alone without cats.
Some years ago I developed the habit of finishing my evening bowl
of cereal and letting any cats present lick the bowl when I was
through.
It occurs to me as I write this that I have fallen to a low state
in life in more ways than one. Where once I went out on the town
and drank with the best and the worst of them, I now stay home at
night sitting around with a wife and cats, never having so much
as a nip of wine, pathetically substituting a bowl of cereal for
a stiff drink. How old that makes me look.
On the other hand, I happen to like cereal. I always have. I eat
it by the ton. I buy it in every flavor they offer, though rarely
the ones with chocolate or with those dry, rubbery little
marshmallow things. But I like cereal for the same reason I
relished wine -- the variety of it. Wine drinking in the past and
cereal eating in the present are something like cheese. It's
something better enjoyed in all its variety.
Oh, I know there are people in the world who always have the same
drink. There are people in the world who always eat cheddar
cheese and nothing else. But most of us are disinclined toward
such predictability. And who wants one cereal for life?
Sometimes I go crazy and mix them -- cereal salad. Sometimes I
use yogurt or a dash of vanilla or brown sugar instead of white.
Sometimes I add nuts or blueberries or dried cranberries. When I
get to partying on cereal each night, I can get a little wild.
And I share. When I finish the cereal I put it on the floor and
the cats finish the last few drops of milk.
That, of course, raises the sanitation issue of cat spit. But we
have the water in our dishwasher set hot enough to melt the hide
off a fat walrus. It shouldn't have any trouble with a little
thing like cat spit.
Besides, if cats don't worry about cat spit, why should I be
concerned? Look at what cats do: they lick themselves all over. I
feel like a giant of sanitation by comparison.
So for some years now, I have shared the last few drops of milk
and sugar with the cats. It pleases them and if nothing else, it
sweetens their breath. Sometimes their breath smells like they
have a licked a cat.
When you get into the habit of letting a cat polish off the last
of the milk in your bowl, the cat also develops a habit. It is
amazing what cats do in that situation. They do not come running
for their share until you are right down to the bottom of the
bowl, finishing up your lion's share of the treat and ready to
give them the rest. You sit there, eating the cereal, the spoon
clink clinking in the bowl. But nothing happens until you near
the bottom. Then suddenly cats appear. How do they know when
you're at that point?
Undoubtedly, the spoon makes a different sound when the bowl is
empty. The sound of metal on porcelain is higher and sharper. The
cats can tell the difference. So they don't have to hang around
half the night waiting for some old goat to finish his evening
cereal. They wait until the right sound signals them and then
they come running.
But you have to admit, that's pretty subtle. So not only can cats
be trained but you don't really have to signal them in
broad-brush ways.
I recently spent a month in Italy studying in a language school
and as I fell into a ritual from home, I got a little lonely. I
was in my apartment almost every night doing homework when I
would get as hungry as a student. So I would have a bowl of the
weird Italian granola I found along with a splash of milk from an
Italian cow. (The milk was a little richer than I was used to and
it had a hint of oregano, but other than that, it was normal
milk.)
Sometimes, as I finished, the change in sound that the spoon made
hitting the porcelain would make me realize that, if I could put
the bowl on the floor, no cat would come running. I was without
cats. Knowing that, I felt as empty as the dish. I had trained
not only the cats to love cereal time but myself to love the
coming of the cats.
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