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Dean and I run a cat house.
Don’t take that the wrong way. We have become a home with a cat instead of a dog. Our cat rules the house. We are on her schedule, and she is very vocal about it. We carry on conversations. Yes, actual conversations, and when she thinks we don’t quite understand her, I do believe she gives us “the finger.” I know she swears!
Hubby goes walking at a set time every morning before most humans are awake. As soon as he leaves, I am told of his disappearance… over and over, at full volume, until I get out of bed. Then she has to beat me to the kitchen, cutting me off in quick bursts of energy.
Stormie always has dry food available, but 5 PM is her “dinner time.” That’s when she gets half a can of soft food. 5 PM is not a range of time, it is the exact time she sits in front of her food area and stares at it. She won’t move until the food arrives.
Stormie chatters at the birds. She gets angry when the windows are closed because we think it is either too hot or cold outside. She complains when the “furnace monster” or “air conditioning monster” make noise. She demands we remove her fuzzy and jingly balls out from under the furniture by laying on her belly and staring. Non-stop. And she lets us know things, usually exaggerating.
The cat shown here is not my cat. But I do think it communicates much like ours does.
I wish I understood feline dialect better than I do. But maybe not. I know I’m being called bad words far too often!