I had this system for getting exactly what I wanted out of people.
My tail would curl skywards, my eyes take on a particular pleading quality and my meow would sound proud but starved. It worked every time.
Today, my victim was the family’s three year old.
Recently, I’d been watching him with Karl, the family dog. Charlie would get the scoop out of the second drawer in the kitchen, follow his father out of the house and to the big tin bin. Stan would then take the lid off the tin, and Charlie would dig the scoop into the dog biscuits. With a squeal of pure joy, he’d pour the biscuits into the dog bowl as Karl would watch on.
It got me thinking.
What if Charlie could get me food?
Today was my day.
Sauntering into the kitchen, I saw Charlie alone. With my high pitched I’m hungry mew, tail curled at just the right angle, my pleading eyes fixated on him. His beatufiul blues fixated on mine.
“Cat, hungry?”
Yes, oh yes.
He smiled, then used a chair to climb onto the kitchen table. Pulling a bowl of cereal off the table, its contents spilled everywhere. My eyes darted to the Weet Bix and milk, sloshing all over the floor.
It was not what I wanted. I wanted my cat food. Glancing up to the bench, I noticed an unopened tin.
It was then I realised my mistake.
Charlie didn’t know how to use a tin opener.
Liz's Everest 