Jack Ensor

My housemates’ cat is hungry and especially affectionate towards me this morning.

I choose not to feed the cat.

The cat likes me more.

I walk to the laundry room and switch the laundry from the washing machine to the dryer and the cat thinks I am going to feed him. The cat’s food bowl is in the laundry room. The cat runs ahead of me, anticipating that his need will be filled.

He no longer cares that I am here to feed him. He only cares that he is going to be fed.

I return to the kitchen where the burr grinder has finished crunching the coffee beans and I make my coffee. The cat’s tail wraps around my ankle and he sits there, purring loudly, with fondness, caring and affirmation for me. I walk away from the cat. He swats at me. He is now angry that I am not providing for him that which he expects. He is mad. I pet the cat on the head, but not because I like him.

He now is lying in the middle of the floor on his back, apparently in protest.

Perhaps, I hate cats so much because we are so much alike.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, March 17th, 2010 at 9:49 am and is filed under The Moose. You can follow any comments to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.