I just read here about a feral cat in Tennessee who had a peanut butter jar stuck on its head for 19 days. When it became too weak to flee, a family was able to catch it, remove the jar, and give the poor thing some nourishment. These critters are astonishing at times and have their unique ways, and that thought has prompted me to blog about our own little fellow and his shenanigans in the wee morning hours last night.
Often The Rocks goes to bed before I, but last night he stayed up with me. When I went down to the kitchen for muffins and milk, he came too and insisted on a saucer of [cat] milk. Usually that suffices and he heads to bed, but not last night, for he was able to pry a second serving out of me later.
Still later, getting on to about 1:30 AM, he was still up and about and clearly manifesting a desire for yet another dollop. Thought I: that's enough, you'll be fine. Thought he: I am determined to get me some more milk (we never give him much at once if you're concerned about his girth — which you should be). After various rubbings, meowings and cajolings hadn't worked to get Papa AC moving to the kitchen, he slipped under the computer desk and proceeded to nip at my feet.
I laughed, and we escorted each other back to the kitchen for the third and final offering. Then we both joined the somnolent Cuppa in bed.
In all of these years, he's never resorted to the tooth to get my attention, but he was of a one-track mind last night.