This morning, I asked Watchcat Collette and her stuffed watchrabbit toy, "How's my security team today?" Watchcat Collette attempted to grab my hand and bite it. Her watchrabbit remained still.
That's what you want in a security duo--a watchrabbit who keeps an eye on the assigned sector and a watchcat who's ready to spring into action.
Granted, attempting to bite me was overzealous, but I'm sure Collette just wanted to show me how seriously she takes her job.
Sometimes, when praising your watchcat, you might need to make an abrupt detour. I did that this afternoon with Watchcat Collette. I started petting Collette, saying, "Aw, nice Collette. You're--NO, NO, NO! STOP, STOP, STOP!"
Fortunately, I prevented Collette from eating a deviled egg. My voice returned to normal volume as I told her, "I'm glad you're my cat, but I need you to not eat things you shouldn't eat."
"Never a dull moment," indeed.
June 30 has special meaning for my family, as Watchcats Rosie and Sammy entered our lives on June 30, 2001, and I adopted Watchcat Sylvia on June 30, 2008. All three cats took differing approaches to guard duty. Watchcat Rosie had a generally take charge attitude, making her presence known and seemingly expecting others to bend to her will. Watchcat Sammy was usually more easy-going and inclined to think through every angle of a situation before responding to it. Watchcat Sylvia had a kind, trusting nature, typically giving people the benefit of the doubt.
All three cats made wonderful impressions on us, as my photos and stories on this blog illustrate. How lucky our family was to have the companionship and guard duty expertise of such great cats. How lucky we still are to have such comforting memories of them--and all the other watchcats who have been and are part of our lives.
I don't know what response I expect, but if I haven't seen Watchcat Collette for several hours, I'll say, "Good morning (or afternoon or evening), Collette. How have you been?"
I know I won't be able to translate her response exactly, but the urgency or lack of urgency in her meowing will at least clue me in that she's hungry, feisty, or lethargic.
Besides, even though we don't speak the same language, it's just respectful of us to say, "I see you there," in our own ways.
I'm not sure what reaction I expect from Watchcat Collette when I say from behind a closed door, "Good morning, Collette. It's 6:11," or "Good morning, Collette. It's 6:55. You won't have much longer to wait," conveying to her that I hear her, but it's not quite time to be fed.
It just feels right to acknowledge her meowing, even though we don't speak the same language.
Watchcat Sylvia used to hide in a hard-to-reach spot under a desk. Initially, I could lure her out by throwing a toy mouse to her. As time went on, however, she wouldn't emerge until I threw two toy mice to her. Then, it became four mice, and...the price kept going up. Eventually, when I threw just one or two toy mice her way, she'd peer out and then dart back under the desk to convey, "Nope. Not enough mice."
I was relieved when Sylvia finally stopped hiding under the desk. If our routine had progressed any further, I might have had to throw 28 toy mice her way, in four alternating rows of seven gray mice and seven white mice. Even if I had done that, Sylvia might still have peered out and retreated quickly, meowing as if to say, "Sorry, but those rows aren't quite symmetrical enough."
I guess we all have our standards.
Usually, when Jackson Browne's song, "Stay/The Load-Out," comes to mind, I replace one lyric of it mentally. Instead of "And the union don't mind," I think of it as, "And the cat will not mind," or "And Collette will not mind."
It amuses me that even in a dream, I want to make sure I have my watchcat's permission before imploring anyone to stay longer.