Purrkins has mastered the art of door indecision. He will sit at the door, staring, while looking back over his shoulder in a charming manner (much like a supermodel giving you the money shot - engaging yet still aloof). As I said, he is good, and I think to myself, 'Ooo, look at my little Purrkins, of course I will get up to let him out'.
Purrkins and Clawde have a cat door that is open almost all the time. I must remember this. They suck me in with those beautiful jewelled eyes and I forget. But I did buy the damn thing specifically so I wouldn't have to get up and down all the time.
Anyway, I do get up and hold the door open for His Highness to go through because I like to think I'm a good Cat-Mum. Purrkins looks up at me lovingly, sniffs the air in his haughty way and looks back at me, unmoving. Sighing, I close the door, realising that I have been tricked yet again. And then he decides that yes, indeed, he does want out. I open the door again. He hesitates. I open the door wider. He looks at me. I look at him. He turns away. I shut the door. He turns back. I swear. I open the door again (because yes, I am in idiot and apparently am the Cat Slave). He hesitates. I squint my eyes at him.
I've had enough - he's pushed me too far. He's going out if it's the last thing he does. And with that thought I gently place the instep of my foot against his ample posterior and apply a firm but solid pressure, launching him through the doorway into freedom. I think he appreciates it because he starts purring and rubbing all over the verandah. In reality, he knows that he has won the war again and pushed me closer to the edge.
Clawde has a similar routine but his involves some gymnastics. He can't go in or out without several long seconds of contemplation of the doorway. He is convinced that something in the doorway is out to get him - either on the way in or on the way out. After the above-mentioned hesitations and game-playing (at the end of the day he is a cat, and the door thing must be in the cat handbook), he either goes in or out with a gazelle-like leap over the bottom of the doorway. Every time. He clears the air and touches down a good 1-2 feet on either side. There must be hot lava that is only visible to feline eyes.Clawde also has another talent at night if he doesn't want to use the cat door. He jumps up the screen door to our bedroom and climbs up, making the most horrible noise with his claws. When you finally haul yourself out of your well-deserved slumber because you can't stand it anymore, he slowly makes his way back down the screen and wanders in with the most satisfied look on his face. I'd love to ignore him when he does this but it's unbearable. And he knows it.
My dogs never do this - they go in and out with great gusto, often knocking anyone that is slightly in their path out of their way. You don't appreciate that kind of immediacy until you have a cat.
As I was employed as Cat Slave last night and standing there, a slight breeze blowing at my hair and a slight cramp forming in my arm, I managed to find the good in the whole exercise. I think this could be a metaphor for my life lately. I've been standing at life's door that opens up to 'New Things' and I've been hesitating, afraid of what's out there in 'New Things'. Or afraid of the hot lava burning me on the way through. Fortunately, there must be a 'Christine Slave' out there that gently launched me through the door with a whimsical nudge to my posterior and into my first gig at writing. Thanks 'Christine Slave', whoever you are. Hmmmm, could it be one of my previous cats, getting some payback for all of my foot shoves out the door.
Maybe. I hope so.
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