The Wild World of Wonk #2

‘The tale of Wonk’ is a story best-told on an empty stomach.

Why? Because it may lead to a cat’s empathy button (yes, it’s a hopeful thing); or, to a mystical, gratitude-like osmosis of cat-like proportions.

Or maybe not.

Well, that’s my opinion at least; even as I typed those words, I subconsciously cringed—as if my wife had just raised an objection. And she only would do THAT, because she is in denial about her cat’s ‘bottomless-pit-of-a-stomach.’

And to tell the truth about it, Wonk’s stomach and ingratitude are tied together.

I guess if he were to swipe my fingers from the keyboard in order to edit me, then he’d probably ‘paw away,’ going on to make the suspiciously convenient point that it’s all in his cat make-up. Maybe he’d emphasize how he really can’t help it that he REE-AWN’s (what people usually call the ‘meow’s—but cats can’t form their lips together to create the ‘m’ sound so REE-AWN it is!)

Don’t get me wrong, I can appreciate that this cat has the requisite skill-set to: 1. Get my attention—constantly; 2. Rapidly rush pass any person who is reckless enough to actually try to enter the house BEFORE him!

Yep! He’s definitely 'tripping people up' at every opportunity!

So, I say all of these preliminary things to stress that I can wrap my mind around the fluffy cat-persona. What I cannot wrap my mind around though, is the decidedly annoying, bait-and-switch kind of thing he does all of the time.

Yes—bait-and-switch.

There! I said it . . . (and so far, my wife hasn't seemed to notice).

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Dietary allowances aside—the ones that he makes for himself, Wonk plays us all off of one another. I may not like that furry, and a bit shady business of his, but I like the o’l switch-a-roo much, much less. That’s what you probably know as the, “Ummmm . . . excuse me. Excuse me people of the house. There’s been a horrible mix-up. I’m starving and I can’t help but to notice that there are 2 or 3 different types of my favorite foods—from LAST WEEK!”

And because 8 out of 9 times, I’m the guy putting out his no-longer all-time favorites (for a grand total of 1 or 2 days), that leaves me sort of mortified.

But Wonk couldn’t possibly care any less than he already doesn’t.

Not one bit.

Because when it’s all said and done, he nearly hospitalizes a couple of us at least 3 times per day.

And that’s on a slow day!

Me: “Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiife! This cat HAS GOT to go! He’s going to drive me crazy!”

Wonk: “With a little luck. Now where’s my food. I’ve been in this house for almost a full minute already! A cat could die around you ungrateful people.”

Me: “Here Wonk…get down. GET DOOOOOOOWN. Here!” (serving him a supremely, fresh can of soft cat food).

Wonk: “Naaaah. I’m good! Let me back out please. I’ll be back in 15 or 22 minutes—I really don’t know what. Whatever suits me honestly.”

Me: (Opening the door frustrated) "Go! Go! Go!"

Wonk: (Looking completely annoyed with me)

"REE-AWN. REE-AWN."

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