Mon 8 Feb 2010
Our patio kitty, Midnight, believes I have super human powers. It’s raining steadily this morning and the skies are a heavy, leaden gray. I just went in to the kitchen to refill my coffee cup and saw Midnight sitting on the back porch step. That is the signal that she’s ready for her breakfast.
When I opened the door, I was immediately subjected to a vocal, emphatic, feline monologue.
“I can’t do anything about the weather, Little Girl.”
“MEOW.”
“If you’d just let me touch you, we could negotiate a changed living arrangement. Inside is very nice. We have this thing called central heat and air and there’s no rain.”
“MEOW!”
“Okay, but that means you have to put up with wet feet every now and then.”
I dumped the crunchy kibble in her bowl and came in. She jumped up on the table and then treated me to one of those withering feline glares through the patio door that very plainly said, “You COULD do something about this weather if you just WOULD.”
Even though I’ve never touched her, it’s obvious I belong to Midnight and that she, like most cats, suffers terribly from the sheer incompetence of her human.






