Friday, June 13, 2008

The Feline Anti-Literacy Brigade, Part 2

This is going to be my last post for a while, but it's not the cats' fault. (I'm actually going to a writers' conference, like a real live writer. Then I have houseguests to entertain.) Although when she saw me start working on this blog entry, feline anti-literacy agent #2 started poking her nose into things.

Meet Calliope. She got her name not because she inspires heroic poetry (like her namesake), but because she is Clio's sister, and thus needed the name of a Greek muse. Good thing there were eight to choose from; some of the other muses's names just didn't sound right. ("Here, Euterpe! Melpomene, are you my sweet puddy tat?" Nope, that wasn't gonna happen. I'm only literary within reason.) So anyway, Callie saw me begin typing and decided to come see what I was doing. This time I was able to fob her off with a couple of treats, and now she's sleeping in the cat tree next to my office window. Awwwww, so cute. Hold on, I'll be back in a sec.

[Wipes fur from hands before returning to keyboard.] This is Callie's secret weapon: being cute and stationary. She doesn't spend much time in my lap (unless she knows I'm planning to get up in five minutes), but she does seem to be around all the time. While the other cats sleep upstairs, usually under the bed, Callie hangs out where she's always visible. Her favorite spot is on the family room sofa, and I have seen her sleep there for eight hours straight, no kidding. In the mornings I usually find her dozing in the sunshine that pools through the dining room windows. In any case, she's visible. She's cute. She sucks me away from the computer to stroke her soft, soft fur. And then she gets up and meows at me: "Hey! Lady-with-the-Wondrous-Opposable-Cat-Food-Can-Opening-Thumbs! Get me some food!"

This is Callie's not so secret weapon: her incessant crying for food. "Beautiful voice" (the translation of Calliope), indeed! MEEEEEOWWWWWWW! Can't you see I'm tiny and underweight? she whines. (Yes, I do see, Callie, but the vet says there's nothing wrong with you.) MEEEEEEEOWWWWW! Why won't you feed me? she pleads. (I did, Callie, but you turned up your nose at Little Friskies "Liver & Chicken Surprise" when last week you ate it with pleasure.) MEEEEOOOOOWWWWWW! I mean, feed me some REAL food! YOUR food! she demands, paw stretching out for a stray crumb on my plate.

Seriously, how I can work in the face of such persistence?


  1. Your cats should come live my cats' life for a week, getting alternately neglected by me, dragged around by the five year old, or diapered by the toddler. They would appreciate you much much more...

  2. Yeah, I often come back from volunteering at the shelter to tell Callie, "I could've traded you in today!" Her reply is always the same: That's nice. Now where's my food?