Cats are the penultimate users/connivers/appropriators/deceivers/lovebugs/eyelash batters/winkers/blinkers/cuddlers/curlers/buddies and lap warmers. They know what to use and when to use it. Their attributes are many, their detriments few. George learned, as I watched, just how they employ their feline wiles. Sofie is particularly good at this. That's her in the picture.

     We had chicken for supper. All cat lovers know cats are addicted to fowl. One bite and hooked for life. Sofie had her first taste as a baby. I dole it out a piece at a time and everyone gets a share. No fussing, spatting or stealing going on. It almost looks like I'm holding sunday services and everyone is thankful. The gang knows what not to try with "mama". Bad manners aren't tolerated.

     However, this bunch of furry felons know how to manipulate "old dad". I witnessed the crime and can testify to the effectiveness of a few strategically placed purrs and batted lashes when employing "cat tactics". It was shameless. And, Sofie (known as special precious princess Sofia Maria diva) was leading the assault. I've known a few battle masters and FBI agents who could take away some lessons from this bunch. Ahhh...'tis the folly of man to master a cat...or something like that.

     George has a virtual "free for all" in front of him. It sounds like he's stomping on tails with all the catterwalling going on. A lot of touchy-feely, gimme-grabby, gotta-have-it kind of thing. oh, that's the part George plays in this suppertime drama. Sofie is right in front doing her best imitation of an anorexic angel...big eyes, sorrowful meow, haven't eaten for three days wail. Merlin is next up with his yodelling and paw pats. Smokie Joe is sitting and waiting but not quite patient. Rico just drools. He, along with the other old timers, knows there's some good eats on that plate. A few sit and wait...Hoover, Heimie, Emily, Boz, Frankie and resident lady Odie. The rest are scattered about. Noses twitch and tails swish. Poor George. I don't know how he ever gets a bite of his own.

     Supper is finally over and poor George has managed to survive the assault. It's clean-up time. I cook, he cleans. It works for us. I sit in the living room but can hear him mumbling and a sort of squeak coming from the kitchen. Okay...he's finally "lost it" and it's commitment time. I walked in to see which hospital he would like to "vacation" in.

     I was astounded at what I saw. Not only was there a cat in the "cat free zone"...the counter...but, George was holding a plate and letting the little darling lick it clean!!! Sofie..."daddy's girl". I have had a stroke, hallucination, stepped into an alternate universe...this is not my kitchen and who is that man? George freezes. Busted. Sofie continues to clean the plate. George stammers and stumbles over his words trying to explain that Sofie was crying and pawing at him and must not have eaten enough today because she's s-o-o-o hungry. Sofie finishes off the last morsel, washes her face, gives me that smug cat look and jumps down and saunters off. Sofie has an attitude.

     My only response is quick and deadly. I went for the jugular. I couldn't help myself. I asked George if he ever noticed how cats bathe. Do they use wash cloths? Soap? I'm sure there's a twinkle in my eye. I see the dazed, been-hit-with-a-hammer look creep over his face. He staggers for just a second then frantically begins looking for the bleach. My point has hit home. The "cat free zone" is now and will forever remain that way. Of course, Sofie still has an attitude.