First it was Jane yesterday, with her S&S answer to the woman who wanted to know what to buy a Jewish woman for her 50th birthday. Then I went over to see what the self-proclaimed nebshit had to say, and she was on the topic of her cat who will only drink from a running faucet (with pictures.) Lest she think she has the only disturbed cat -- I'm starting to think there really isn't any other kind -- I proudly present BooBoo.
His full name, btw, is BooBoo Norman. The Hubs and I wanted to name him Norman so that whenever he sauntered into the room, we could all yell "Norm!" His registered cat association (or whatever) name was Oreo. He became BooBoo because when he was a tiny runty kitten, his mother bit him on the shoulder when she was trying to pick him up, and so he had a booboo, and that's what stuck.
He's beautiful.
He's nuts.
Here's his water shtick: When the Hubs gets up in the morning, usually around 5, Boo will immediately begin to cry. He's crying for water. He wants fresh water. So the Hubs will empty out the full water dish, which Boo disdains, since it's been sitting there all night, and refill it. Boo will continue to cry. Because he a) will not drink from the dish unless he's seen it being refilled with his own eyes, and b) he refuses to be in the kitchen while the Hubs is at the sink. The Hubs will then refill the bowl -- again -- and hope that the cat is lurking close enough to the kitchen to realize that the water is fresh. On the third refill, Boo will edge close enough to the bowl to be tempted to drink, however, he WILL NOT DRINK if Hubs is still in the room. As soon as he steps over the threshold, though, the cat goes for it.
Later, when I wake up, around 7 in the summer, it's time for Boo to eat. His food is out all the time, in a self-refilling dish, dry food. (He won't eat canned food if it's in his own dish. He only eats canned food, which he loves, if it's in the other cat's dish.) Now, Boo's food is on a countertop, since his step-sister, Q, would eat 24/7 if she could get it. Boo, graceful gentleman that he is, has no trouble reaching his food (although Q is too ungainly to do so.) His food is there, available, all the time. But he waits. When I open the bedroom door in the morning, there he sits, crying for food. So I follow him into the kitchen. He watches me the whole time. I have to stand close, but not too close, to his food dish. And I have to look nonchalant, like I'm not really interested in what he's doing. Then and only then will he jump up to where his dish is, and with a final look in my direction, because now I HAVE TO BE WATCHING HIM, will he begin to eat. Once he's taken his first bite, I'm free. I can go to the bathroom, or make coffee, or do anything else, anywhere else. But I have to watch him start to eat, or he won't. He'll just keep crying.
And he cries for water from time to time throughout the day, but is fine as long as he sees any one of us (including the Hubs) get it for him on the first try.
And people say dogs are smarter than cats. Cats are the dominant species on earth, no? Not just in my house?
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I'm watching Dr. Phil
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