I'm not sure why, when returning from grocery shopping, I've often said to Watchcat Sylvia or Watchcat Collette, "Alright, I've got new food and cat litter for you, so you should be good to go for a little while."
I'm still waiting for the day when Watchcat Collette responds, "Thank you for alleviating my concern. I was wondering when you'd get around to restocking those items."
I felt sheepish recently, having to apologize to Watchcat Collette. I'd started eating a salad when Collette walked around the table, asking, "Meow? Meow?"
I explained to her, "Oh, I'm sorry, Collette. I already put dressing on the salad. I know I usually give you a few lettuce leaves before I do that, but I forgot this time. Sorry about that. I'll remember next time."
Fortunately, I did remember the next time, and Collette ate her lettuce then. I'm glad I remembered. Watchcats don't like it when you make the same grievous error twice in a row.
I've always liked it when I've gone to sleep on the couch, and Watchcat Sylvia or Watchcat Collette and I have drifted off to sleep around the same time while a warm, "pleasant dreams"-type tune is playing. "Rhapsody And Blues" by The Crusaders and Chuck Mangione's "Chase The Clouds Away" fit the scene most appropriately, I think.
I know this scenario is logistically impossible, but I still like that it's a recurring dream. I sometimes imagine myself back in college on my way to class. Somewhere along the way, I encounter Watchcat Rosie saying to her brother, Watchcat Sammy, "Mew! Mew! Mew!" Translated into English, she's telling him, "Hurry up, or we'll be late for class!" After letting out a loud, "Meowwwwwwww," Sammy picks up a sudden burst of speed, and Rosie and he run off to class together.
I always wake up, however, before learning what class they're taking. I still wonder about that. I also wonder if they're the only cats in the class, and if not, how they cope with other members of their own species in the same auditorium.
It surprised me that for several years, Watchcat Sylvia would sit on top of or in her cat carrier. Sometimes, she'd even sleep there. That's not what I'd expect from most cats, given the association between the carrier and going to the vet. Then again...
In a tone so serious that surprised even me, I once said to Watchcat Collette, "Good evening, Collette. How have you been today?"
I'm not sure what response I expected. It would have impressed me, though, if Collette had given me a security rundown for the day, such as, "There was some rain earlier, but it was short-lived. There was also a loud whooshing noise this afternoon, but I investigated, and it was just a train going by. Also, two birds flew past the living room window rather urgently, but I learned that they have clearance to build a nest for their budding family in the stairwell window."
Collette just meowed in response, though, and I accepted that she was OK on a relatively ordinary day.
Lately, I've been picking up Watchcat Collette and singing, "There's only one Collette cat!" to the tune of the Ozempic jingle. To Collette's credit, she hasn't bitten me in response. After all, who doesn't love having their individuality acknowledged?