The full moon is almost upon us, and with its advent comes yet another cycle of The Cat being weird. The moon is at 98% of full, waxing gibbous. So full and bright that it is impossible to sleep at night without blackout curtains. And The Cat is going ballistic.
Let me rephrase that. The Cat is not going ballistic. The Cat is always ballistic. The Cat is also depressed and, as a result, shunning us. Let me see if I can explain in ways that someone who is not a cat will understand. (If you are a cat, you know exactly what I mean.)
As you may be aware, dear reader, we were called upon once again to host the Annual Red & Black Ant Convention. The invitations went out a few weeks ago. If you didn't get yours, check the spot between the desk and file cabinet. Your cat may have been protecting you by hiding it just out of sight. If you are not owned by, leased by or equipped with a cat to perform this protection, consider making the appropriate arrangements. But I digress...
The Cat is in One Of Her Moods. These moods happen, and as The Cat's slaves, we must be sensitive to their presence and take appropriate action, like staying completely out of her way and/or acquiescing to her every whim. It's something we're used to, and we have no reason to expect change.
These moods are triggered by an event or lack thereof. Last month it was the UPS man and his rumbling brown truck that he insists on leaving in idle mode in the front yard while placing packages on the porch. That sent her into a full day of funk, punctuated by rapid circling and trips to the front window to glare and bark at the place where brown behemoth stunk up her terrain.
This month it's the Annual Red & Black Ant Convention. The convention coordinators and scouts had reserved the back bathroom tub for their main gathering, but due to a misunderstanding with the caterers and headcount, attendance quickly overflowed the appointed facilities and began taking over rooms that weren't on the list, including portions of the pantry, kitchen and den/office.
The Cat hates nothing worse than poor planning, especially when it interferes with her own schedule. And it did.
The Offering of The Tuna is scheduled between 5:45 AM and noon, or on demand, once a day. The tuna is to be chilled for a minimum of ten minutes, then placed in single teaspoonful portions upon a pair of white Corelle bread plates - one for The Cat, and one for the other cat, Growler(*). NOT the saucer. The saucers have dips in the middle to keep cups from skidding around. Those dips interfere with the tuna placement and are not acceptable vessels.
The tuna portions are to be set upon the floor, approximately 12 inches from each other, no more than one foot from the base of the scratching post at the kitchen entryway, and no less than 36 inches from the water dishes. It is to be unobstructed by furniture, feet and other unacceptable interferences, and in clear sight of The Cat from a radius of 45 inches.
Once the offering plate is in position, the petitioner must stand to one side recite the Rite of the Offering of The Tuna, then call for the Offering's acceptance.
The Rite of the Offering of The Tuna
O Great Cat, O Mistress of Our Destiny,
Please accept this fresh offering of the delicacy we call Tuna
With our humble thanks for your benevolent attention
To our daily needs and unworthy requests for moments of your affection,
And with this prayer and offering we do petition
Yet one more day of your gracious presence.
Amen.
The Call
TUNA!
It's all in the manual.
Well. Three days ago, when it was time for Tuna Presentation, we followed all the proper guidelines for the Offering. The Royal Tuna Procurement Officer had stocked up on the preferred brand of this delicacy, and everything was going according to schedule The correct plates were positioned. The tuna was placed on the plates. The distances were measured. The rites were recited. The Call was properly made.
Two minutes later, The Cat arrived, sat down before the left plate, and stared in utter disgust.
The plate was swarming with attendees from the Annual Red & Black Ant Convention. Revelers had already dug into the buffet and were whooping it up at the hosted bar. Stragglers were carrying away portions of the offering in their pockets, leaving teensy crumbs of seafood across the kitchen floor. The noise was incredible.
I scrambled to regain control of the situation, clean up the kitchen floor, and herd the attendees back to their appointed quarters, replacing the dish with one mounted in a water barrier. The Cat stomped away, tail in the air. Water barriers are not in the manual. **
It's been a sad and lonely three days since The Cat has chosen to sulk in her room, miffed and depressed, instead of accepting the daily Offering of The Tuna with less than conventional methods and dinnerware. We are being shunned.
* Growler is also a cat, but is not The Cat. Growler is a very amiable, friendly tortoise-shell tabby who loves everyone and wants to be your best friend. She is rumored to be a kritard (look in the 'K' section). She is the opposite of The Cat in many ways. You'll meet her someday.
** (A water barrier is created by setting the smaller plate onto a larger plate, then carefully pouring water into the larger plate so that the smaller plate is isolated by the water and floats slightly. This is supposed to discourage the ants, since supposedly they can't swim. This is supposed to keep the ants from reaching the food, since supposedly they can't swim while carrying twice their body weight in tuna. This does not slow the ants down for more than a few minutes. Once they recon the situation, they retreat and send in their kamikaze troops, then walk across the backs of the corpses. Water barriers do not fool ants. However, they seem to fool me, since I try it every year, forgetting that it didn't work last year either.)
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