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[extemporanea]

It occurs to me that I could be over-anthropomorphising my animals when breakfast becomes punctuated with mutterings of "Get a therapist, cat!" on a daily basis. (Ounce is still totally neurotic, despite recent attempts to forcibly socialise him by making him eat next to the other cats rather than in solitary splendour across the kitchen. I'd

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[mcmayhem]

I hold entire conversations with my cats- don't feel bad about merely instructing them in social propriety. Example: this morning one of my cats reappeared after a 3-day vacation.
"Frank! Heeeeey, where have you been? You went down to the river, huh? Well, I'm glad you're back; I was starting to get worried about you. I was about to send Mike out looking for you. You know your sister wasn't able to find you."
(he looks up at me)
"Happy to be back, huh? Here, let me get you some food."

I swear it runs in the family. My dad does the same thing.

[extemporanea]

I derive comfort from the fact that I'm not alone in this cat-person trope, or in the long, essentially one-sided converstations. (Although one of ours has a line in whinging mews with which you can actually hold a conversation, with sufficient creativity).

Also, I am comforted to think that cats don't mind what the hell you say to them as long as the concept "let me get you some food" arises somewhere. The rest is mere waffling by the pink blobs, and is tuned out. Thus I don't feel too bad about stigmatising Ounce horribly with the "get a therapist!" comment. Even if he wasn't too busy ducking and running because I've walked into the kitchen in a possibly threatening manner which suggests I'm going to kill and eat him, again, he wouldn't be listening anyway. Cats. Beautifully evolved, really.

[extemporanea]

Bugger. That first "converstations" should, of course, read "conversations", and probably would were it not for that last, fatal glass of port. On top of all that wine. Never post while drunk. Or tipsy. Or tired. Or, better still, do, because it probably amuses the crowds.

I need a tipsy icon. Or, possibly, not.

[mcmayhem]

My latest drunken post seemed well-received, and being as that I do whatever pleases my audience...pass the port.

The cats at my house don't respond nearly as much as I'd prefer, so one-sided is how it goes the bulk of the time. Those who live at my parents' house, though, are quite vocal and even seem to have "yes," "no," "quickly," and "stop it, you oaf" down pat. This, of course, is a figment of my imagination and something which should never be admitted to a therapist, but still I insist that they're on the verge of communicating in plain English. They also seem to have an uncanny ability to correctly interpret verbal commands like "come in here and get dried off," "come sit next to me," and "please change the channel." Whether they choose to obey is a different matter entirely, but I sense a glimmer of knowing when they're addressed.

Is your icon from Spirited Away?