guidance was tempered with a dose of practical realism.
The tone of the comment wasn’t nearly as comforting as the niece would have liked. In fact, it sounded somewhat dubious.
“Mrao.”
• • •
WITH A WIDE yawn, Rupert took a seat on the bathroom floor beside his igloo-shaped litter box. His wobbly eyes crossed as he contemplated the intricacies of human versus feline nasal function and design, but he came up with nothing to contribute to the discussion. Being an experienced male member of the animal species, he wisely offered no opinion on the relative attractiveness of either nose shape.
All of this talk about noses was, however, making him hungry. Of course, the discussion of any topic was likely to make him hungry at ten thirty in the morning.
It had been more than three hours since breakfast, and he’d burned a lot of calories in the intervening period, what with his extensive picture posing, the long cuddling session in his person’s lap, and lastly, the activity that had consumed the greatest amount of energy, sleeping.
He poked his fluffy tail up into the air, kinking the tip slightly to the left, and began hopping down the stairs toward the kitchen.
It was a clear signal that he assumed his person would understand. At this point in their relationship, he reasoned, she should be well versed in the routine.
It was time for his morning snack.
• • •
MOMENTS LATER, RUPERT reached the second floor and bounded into the kitchen, his stomach rumbling as he neared his food bowl.
His was a tempered enthusiasm, as he was only expecting dry cat food. For the last two months, he had tried to be accommodating and to not complain too much about the quality of the provisions. After all, it was impossible for his person to obtain the good stuff, what with Oscar gone and Lick’s fried chicken joint closed.
Fried chicken
, Rupert thought, swooning at the passing mention of his favorite dish. He paused, one paw hovering in the air, overwhelmed by the memory.
Those delectable pieces of meat were still the focal point of his dreams. He often woke to find drool dribbling down his chin. It had been a very disappointing Thanksgiving and Christmas for the poultry-obsessed cat.
Nevertheless, Rupert remained hopeful that the chicken chef and his collection of cast-iron skillets would soon reappear. Until then, he would have to make do with his regular gruel.
• • •
NOW EVEN HUNGRIER than before, Rupert plopped in front of his empty food bowl and waited for his person to appear.
He cocked his head, listening for the sound of human footsteps following him down the stairs.
Nothing. The apartment was unusually quiet.
The niece must not have noticed him leaving the bathroom, Rupert thought. She had been awfully obsessed with her nose. Perhaps she’d missed his signal.
Or maybe she’d forgotten what time it was. He shook his head, a gesture of utter incomprehension. How could she not remember something as important as his morning snack?
Rupert opened his mouth and let loose a plaintive howl, one that sounded as if he hadn’t eaten for days and was rapidly nearing the end of his sad, pitiful life.
Then he paused and listened again.
Still nothing.
He peered up at the ceiling, perplexed. Summoning his vocal reserves, he took in a deep breath and repeated the request at an amplified volume, a call that clearly communicated he was a cat on the very edge of starvation.
There, he thought with relieved satisfaction as he heard the woman begin her descent. Finally, she got the message.
He looked up with anticipation as the niece entered the kitchen.
Her face bore an apologetic expression—appropriate, he reasoned, for someone who had been so derelict in her cat-attending duties.
“So, uh, Rupert,” the niece said as she approached the pantry where she kept the cat food. “I noticed you’ve put on some extra weight lately.”
Extra weight
, Rupert thought, looking frantically down at his plump
The tone of the comment wasn’t nearly as comforting as the niece would have liked. In fact, it sounded somewhat dubious.
“Mrao.”
• • •
WITH A WIDE yawn, Rupert took a seat on the bathroom floor beside his igloo-shaped litter box. His wobbly eyes crossed as he contemplated the intricacies of human versus feline nasal function and design, but he came up with nothing to contribute to the discussion. Being an experienced male member of the animal species, he wisely offered no opinion on the relative attractiveness of either nose shape.
All of this talk about noses was, however, making him hungry. Of course, the discussion of any topic was likely to make him hungry at ten thirty in the morning.
It had been more than three hours since breakfast, and he’d burned a lot of calories in the intervening period, what with his extensive picture posing, the long cuddling session in his person’s lap, and lastly, the activity that had consumed the greatest amount of energy, sleeping.
He poked his fluffy tail up into the air, kinking the tip slightly to the left, and began hopping down the stairs toward the kitchen.
It was a clear signal that he assumed his person would understand. At this point in their relationship, he reasoned, she should be well versed in the routine.
It was time for his morning snack.
• • •
MOMENTS LATER, RUPERT reached the second floor and bounded into the kitchen, his stomach rumbling as he neared his food bowl.
His was a tempered enthusiasm, as he was only expecting dry cat food. For the last two months, he had tried to be accommodating and to not complain too much about the quality of the provisions. After all, it was impossible for his person to obtain the good stuff, what with Oscar gone and Lick’s fried chicken joint closed.
Fried chicken
, Rupert thought, swooning at the passing mention of his favorite dish. He paused, one paw hovering in the air, overwhelmed by the memory.
Those delectable pieces of meat were still the focal point of his dreams. He often woke to find drool dribbling down his chin. It had been a very disappointing Thanksgiving and Christmas for the poultry-obsessed cat.
Nevertheless, Rupert remained hopeful that the chicken chef and his collection of cast-iron skillets would soon reappear. Until then, he would have to make do with his regular gruel.
• • •
NOW EVEN HUNGRIER than before, Rupert plopped in front of his empty food bowl and waited for his person to appear.
He cocked his head, listening for the sound of human footsteps following him down the stairs.
Nothing. The apartment was unusually quiet.
The niece must not have noticed him leaving the bathroom, Rupert thought. She had been awfully obsessed with her nose. Perhaps she’d missed his signal.
Or maybe she’d forgotten what time it was. He shook his head, a gesture of utter incomprehension. How could she not remember something as important as his morning snack?
Rupert opened his mouth and let loose a plaintive howl, one that sounded as if he hadn’t eaten for days and was rapidly nearing the end of his sad, pitiful life.
Then he paused and listened again.
Still nothing.
He peered up at the ceiling, perplexed. Summoning his vocal reserves, he took in a deep breath and repeated the request at an amplified volume, a call that clearly communicated he was a cat on the very edge of starvation.
There, he thought with relieved satisfaction as he heard the woman begin her descent. Finally, she got the message.
He looked up with anticipation as the niece entered the kitchen.
Her face bore an apologetic expression—appropriate, he reasoned, for someone who had been so derelict in her cat-attending duties.
“So, uh, Rupert,” the niece said as she approached the pantry where she kept the cat food. “I noticed you’ve put on some extra weight lately.”
Extra weight
, Rupert thought, looking frantically down at his plump
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