The Training

    The cat was up.

    Rosa knew it was up because of the march of paws across her back, followed by the soft susurration of a leap to the floor, the predictable soft landing, front paws, back paws, all four feet on the carpet, and then the silent footsteps out the bedroom door to the litter box, the familiar rearrangement of the gravelly mixture, then the quiet march to the kitchen where it would wait.

    Patiently, Rosa assumed, had always assumed, because when she eventually flipped on the kitchen light, the cat was there, always, next to his empty bowl, feigning indifference, an attitude he had perfected . . . or inherited from some ancient, solitary ancestor, feigning indifference unless . . .  unless Rosa made the mistake of starting the pot of water for her tea before scooping the half cup of kibble out of the Friskies bag into the empty bowl.

    No kibble, no peace. That apparently was the cat's motto, his guiding star, his modus operandi. It began subtly: the silky body rubbing her ankle, emitting a faint sound from deep in his throat, then the slightest murmur of complaint, that slowly became insistent, once even a claw showing and the mewing rising in volume if the dish was still empty after her tea had brewed and the toast was up and buttered, tantalizing the cat's heightened sense of smell and entitlement.

    It was a game they played--Rosa waiting to see how patient the cat could be, how long before the first yowl of complaint, but, if her tea was poured and she approached her chair by the window, the cat streaked around her, leapt up on the chair, and stood, quiet, even calm, but unmovable and unforgiving.

    It made her laugh, a guilty laugh because she knew she'd ignored the cat on purpose, to see how long it would feign indifference (one of its talents) before the serious complaints started.

    Which was immediate this morning. The insistent meow started up as soon as she flipped on the kitchen light, and the message was clear.

    I'm not playing your game today . . . feed me NOW . . . and, of course, Rosa did.