Tuesday, January 15, 2008 (SF Chronicle)
Jon Carroll
I think Bucket is taking a correspondence course in "How to Be a Cat."
Archie more or less took up all the cat room available in the home when he
was alive, leaving Bucket to sulk around the edges, very occasionally
seeking bonding opportunities, during which she drooled copiously. When we
made overtures of friendship, she usually ran away. Very disheartening.
But Archie's been gone for nine months now, and Bucket is assuming the
role of Cat in the household. Unfortunately, she has no idea what the job
entails, and she's had to follow her instincts. Her instincts are
unreliable.
As an example: Most cats will initiate a rub-and-purr session by jumping
up on an available lap or bed. I think Bucket maybe saw Archie do that,
and so she's trying it out, sort of. Sometimes, she stands by my chair and
looks up. Sometimes she meows.
"Come on, Bucket," I say. "Come on up. That's a girl. Come up. You know
you want to. Come on." And Bucket stands there. She's racked by internal
doubts. Is it safe up there? It's been safe the previous hundred times,
but that does not mean it's safe now.
"Come on, Bucket. Up you get. Come on. Such a good cat. Come on, Bucket."
Still she stands. She tilts her head quizzically. Sometimes she walks
around in a small circle. She weighs the options. A car door slams far
away, and that distracts her. By this time, I am getting tired of trying
to persuade a cat to experience bonding pleasure. She doesn't want to get
petted, fine. Go your own damn way, devil cat.
And sometimes she does. Nothing happens. There's a lot of rejection in the
Bucket experience. Of course, all cat owners experience rejection; that's
what sets them apart from dog owners. But this scenario of permanent
hesitation is way too tedious. It's against the Cat Code.
And that, of course, is the problem - Bucket has not read the Cat Code.
She never got a copy. She knows she's supposed to do something, but she's
damned if she can figure out what that is. And she won't accept my help
because I'm not a cat. Oh, I could make her such a cat. I could be
Pygmalion and she could be Eliza Doolittle. But that is not to be. Doomed
to selling flowers in Covent Garden! Poor Bucket!
Bucket's indecision is not confined to human interaction. She will stand
in front of the cat door for 10 minutes before going out. There's a great
big window next to the cat door, so she can see pretty clearly that
nothing is lurking outside. Still, she temporizes. She frets. And when she
finally departs, she scurries through the hole like a ferret chasing a
rat. Then she stands on the deck breathing heavily, having cheated death
one more time.
If Bucket were indifferent to us, that would be one thing. But she's not.
Occasionally she will join us on the bed and start to purr and knead like
crazy. She will stand on my chest (or Tracy's chest; she doesn't seem to
have a favorite) and push her forehead into my chin, and eventually I will
have to put her down because I am, damn it, trying to read. Archie
understood about reading. Cuddling up next to someone was fine with him.
Bucket doesn't have that part down yet.
Finally, maybe, Bucket will settle down for some companionable nestling.
She spooks easily, however. The following things will cause her to leap
from the bed and disappear down the stairs: a cough, a sneeze, the turning
of a page, a laugh, any noise outside the house no matter how muted or
distant, body movements of any kind. She can also become alarmed by events
inaudible and invisible to humans. Marley's Ghost has come again! Flee!
Bucket also doesn't grasp the difference between waking humans and
sleeping humans. That should be covered early on in the course, because a
sleeping human suddenly wakened can be dangerous to cats - indeed, it is
their only indoor predator. Bucket will lea
Unknown "The Bard" Evasive
- 16 years, 11 months, 13 days ago
