Silver Retriever - a reading (on YouTube)
Sarajevo and I have taken to playing a new game just before I go to sleep, fetch. Cats don't play fetch, you say? Well, not in the same way as dogs, that's for sure.
One of her favorite toys is a small, wadded up piece of note paper, about the size of a large marble. She'll bat it around the bathroom or kitchen for hours, enjoying its erratic bounces and the sound it makes ricocheting off the baseboards. She's very jealous of "her" toy, so when Pristina comes to investigate the
noise, Sara picks up her ball and carries it elsewhere to play. It's hilarious watching this miniature cat clutching a little, dingy wad of paper in her mouth like a pedigreed prize from a recent hunt.
So, how did this evolve into a game of fetch? Both Sara and Tina are young enough that they still like to play near Karen and I, like we're surrogate "mom" (or "dad."). The past few nights while I was reading in bed, Sara has jumped up with her paper ball in her mouth, dropped it beside me and started batting it. We're trying to train them not to play on the bed, so I picked up the wad and tossed it toward the bathroom doorway. She immediately went tearing after the sound of the paper bouncing off the door frame. I figured that was the end of it. Until she came back carrying her toy, dropped it beside me again and looked up expectantly.
Since then, I've found it's not the motion of the throw that she follows, it's the sound of the paper hitting something across the room. I can't fool her like I could almost every dog I've known with a fake throw. When I try, she just looks at my hand, and cocks her head. I know she can see the paper leave my hand, as
I've watched her eyes follow it. But she waits to hear an impact before she sprints off the bed. Her ears track where it hits with amazing accuracy. She always finds it quickly, even though she can't always see where it lands.
Now, she jumps up on the bed just before the lights go out and deposits her "prey" beside me. If I ignore it, she plays with it on the bed. So, I toss it toward the bathroom and she tears off after it like a cheetah, banking off the Karen's legs, the footboard, the wastebasket, Tina and anything else between her and her quarry. She stuns it with a swat or two, then clutches in her teeth and returns to start the hunt again, always depositing it right beside me, then waiting, though not always patiently. If I'm not fast enough, she self-starts playing on the bed again.
This game of fetch goes on for a good twenty minutes. Last night she quit only when she was winded from too much sprinting, tough to do with a kitten. None of the older cats know what to think of this canine-esque behavior, except how undignified and unbecoming of a young queen the whole sordid thing really is. They stalk from the room indignantly as soon as we start the hunt. But she never seems to notice. She's too intent on where I might toss her prey.
I wonder what other tricks she will teach me.
One of her favorite toys is a small, wadded up piece of note paper, about the size of a large marble. She'll bat it around the bathroom or kitchen for hours, enjoying its erratic bounces and the sound it makes ricocheting off the baseboards. She's very jealous of "her" toy, so when Pristina comes to investigate the
noise, Sara picks up her ball and carries it elsewhere to play. It's hilarious watching this miniature cat clutching a little, dingy wad of paper in her mouth like a pedigreed prize from a recent hunt.
So, how did this evolve into a game of fetch? Both Sara and Tina are young enough that they still like to play near Karen and I, like we're surrogate "mom" (or "dad."). The past few nights while I was reading in bed, Sara has jumped up with her paper ball in her mouth, dropped it beside me and started batting it. We're trying to train them not to play on the bed, so I picked up the wad and tossed it toward the bathroom doorway. She immediately went tearing after the sound of the paper bouncing off the door frame. I figured that was the end of it. Until she came back carrying her toy, dropped it beside me again and looked up expectantly.
Since then, I've found it's not the motion of the throw that she follows, it's the sound of the paper hitting something across the room. I can't fool her like I could almost every dog I've known with a fake throw. When I try, she just looks at my hand, and cocks her head. I know she can see the paper leave my hand, as
I've watched her eyes follow it. But she waits to hear an impact before she sprints off the bed. Her ears track where it hits with amazing accuracy. She always finds it quickly, even though she can't always see where it lands.
Now, she jumps up on the bed just before the lights go out and deposits her "prey" beside me. If I ignore it, she plays with it on the bed. So, I toss it toward the bathroom and she tears off after it like a cheetah, banking off the Karen's legs, the footboard, the wastebasket, Tina and anything else between her and her quarry. She stuns it with a swat or two, then clutches in her teeth and returns to start the hunt again, always depositing it right beside me, then waiting, though not always patiently. If I'm not fast enough, she self-starts playing on the bed again.
This game of fetch goes on for a good twenty minutes. Last night she quit only when she was winded from too much sprinting, tough to do with a kitten. None of the older cats know what to think of this canine-esque behavior, except how undignified and unbecoming of a young queen the whole sordid thing really is. They stalk from the room indignantly as soon as we start the hunt. But she never seems to notice. She's too intent on where I might toss her prey.
I wonder what other tricks she will teach me.
© 2011 Edward P. Morgan III
--------------------------------
ReplyDeleteNotes and asides:
--------------------------------
(Posted on 8/8/11 for the 4th anniversary of Noddfa Imaginings).
I cleaned this one up to improve the word choice and the flow, but the structure I left alone.
Sara is the only cat we've ever known to play fetch. Tina enjoyed playing with paper balls, but never brought one back. Sara and I would play this game several times a day. She used to deposit paper balls behind my chair when I was working. Eventually, she would fall asleep there as she waited for me to notice.
Sarajevo (Sara) and Pristina (Tina) were the first in our line of cats who were named for crisis points in the world at the time we adopted them. The current two are Samarra (Mara) and Nyala. I currently have a set of several other names to choose from should another furry friend make us an offer we can't refuse. Our vet
looks at us a little funny when we bring in a new one. But at least we know their names are unique.
Sara died suddenly in the spring of 2003. She would have been 12 this year. I still miss her and our game.
Picture notes:
ReplyDeleteThis is an analog film picture Karen took of Sara outside in 1999 with her Pentax K1000. She scanned it in earlier this year. As you can see, the negative or print had not held up spectacularly. But we didn't have many other options, none of her as a young cat.