What time do you feed your cat each day? It turns out that your cat’s feeding schedule reveals a lot about ourselves as cat owners, which we’ve completely ignored in favor of some jokes.
You’re strict, possibly unyielding. You get things done and expect the same from everyone. You give yourself half a grapefruit and a cup of Yuban, while Ponderosa gets her six ounces of vet-recommended kibble at a prompt oh-six-hunert hours. Then it’s straight to work for the both of you — you, to the garage or the shed or wherever the heck you go. The cat, to sleep duty. “Shut those eyes” you order. “I don’t want to see so much as a stretch from you for the next eight hours, you hear me? See you this evening, sweetums.”
You give yourself three minutes to pour yourself a cup of coffee and take a few sips, your cat doing perfect figure-eights around your legs, before you reach for the can opener. You’re perfect. Your cat is perfect. All is right in your world. It’s like the perfect time for something terrible to happen.
Oh, hey, good morning! Can I get you a coffee and a pastry, maybe a newspaper? You got in late last night, huh? How was all the drinking? By the way, did you know I’ve been meowing like a drum machine outside your closed door since 7 a.m.? And that one of your roommates made me a salad, for cryin’ out loud? Get your life together.
You’re a sucker. The cat owns you. The cat knows that if she meows like a jackhammer at the foot of your bed, you will ultimately make your way, after all the pleading and crying and negotiating, to the kitchen, where you will wearily pry open a can of wet food in the dark, sobbing. You are a puppet. Thanks for playing. Same time tomorrow morning, okay? Try not to cry so much this time.
Trying to outsmart a cat, are we? Hahahaha. Your logic seems sound: By feeding the cat at midnight, the cat is less likely to wake up at 4 a.m. and meow like Rosemary Clooney in your bedroom. On paper, it’s a good plan. You probably have a decent 401(k) and full medical. But then, it hits you: You’re the kind of person who feeds your cat at midnight. What would the neighbors think? What kind of monster are you?
Well done, sir. You have found a friend in technology, and in doing so you have placed the responsibly of feeding the cat to a contraption. You have taken yourself out of the food-equation, in other words. You are no longer God. How does that feel? Cat’s been little cold toward you, hasn’t she? Treating you like you’re a piece of furniture? You had one card left to play, and you threw it away. Soon she’ll decide she wants to sleep on your face, and you’ll be screwed.
After all, you think, you eat whenever you are hungry. Why shouldn’t the cat? Excellent reasoning! And isn’t it so much easier to just pour 98 ounces of dry food in a salad bowl every couple days? Just like it’s so much easier to just sit on the couch and watch TV all day instead of … everything else?
Is the cat at the table with you? On the table? Does she have her own plate? Do you set out a knife and fork for her? The world is hard, and we do what we can. Carry on, you crazy diamond.