In all the months my cat has sat on my lap while I work on the computer, last night was the first time she showed any interest in the screen. As I played the “Pink Panther” clip from our flute concert, Melody came to attention. I believe it was the movement of the flutes that first caught her eye. We both were engrossed in watching the video clip. At one point she went behind the screen to see what she might find.
This morning she discovered the cursor. It was hard to peer around her as she followed my Internet trail. Typing, though, is even more interesting. She follows the line of moving type but never can seem to catch it. Right now she is perched right in front of the screen, her tail thumping the cabinet.
Melody is an interesting creature. No matter how relaxed she is, her tail tells a different story. It has a wildly active life of its own. In addition, she is quite the communicator. Purring is her all-purpose accompaniment to many activities: being brushed, eating, playing, and now computer gazing. She has carefully trained me to recognize that when she lies on her back with legs splayed it is not an invitation to be petted, but a request to play with her catnip mouse on a shoelace. She paws on closet doors when she is desperate to be let in—thank goodness she is declawed! Otherwise, the woodwork would be doomed.
But she saves her most elaborate communication for early morning. Her inner clock is set for seven. She has several methods for waking me: persistently tapping my shoulder, walking across my chest, purring loudly in my ear. If those efforts fail to get me up and out of bed, she pulls out the big guns and bats small items off my bedside table. And why does she do all this? Despite the food in her kitty dish, she believes she must see and hear a sprinkle of fresh food before she can settle down to breakfast. After a few bites, she wanders away—unless, of course, I go back to bed, in which case she dedicates herself to getting me up again.
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