Ha! No doubt: “Dammit, human, see! I had to go get my own breakfast this morning!”
I work all day in an office containing 2-10 cats at any given time. So, “I love you, but GET OFF ME” is a daily refrain.
Right now, the office cats are relatively peaceful. There are just three: one older guy who is very chill and keeps to himself. The kind of cat you could easily hide from a landlord. And two sister kittens, about eight months old.
They spend a lot of time together and it’s sooooooo cute seeing them curled up together or playing together, but then… Berkley will start comfort-suckling on Pasadena. Always on the same spot- a certain tuft of fur on her shoulder. Pasadena doesn’t seem to have any problem with it, but never reciprocates. And Berkley gets REALLY into it, nuzzling and kneading and audibly suckling.
It’s cute, but feels like a weirdly intimate and kinda gross thing to watch happening on your desk next to your keyboard while you work… or on the counter in the lobby in front of a room full of people.
Maybe you could give him a surrogate stuffed toy mom to nurse on?
We’ve actually had two separate bottle baby puppies in the office in recent weeks, so we’ve got a whole collection of stuffed animals made with the purpose of simulating a mommy, complete with heartbeats and heat packs. She’s not interested in them. Or in any other cat. Just her sister.
We do keep an eye on Pasadena’s shoulder for signs of hair loss or irritation and on her behavior for signs that she might be losing patience with this routine and nothing seems to be amiss. I put a little bandanna on her the other day just because it was cute and festive and it makes it easier for the public to tell them apart and my co-worker asked if I had done it to protect her shoulder. I didn’t, but if it were to become an actual problem, I bet we could rig up some kind of little cat cape for that purpose.
Anyway, here they are in action.
Aw, they’re adorable! i wonder if the sucklee would be okay with a little shirt?
It was cute when Bear and Meeko were begging for shrimp we cooked up.
Had company. It’s rainy. Everyone indoors.
They got a morsel or two. I gave them a shrimp each on their snack plates.
It’s not cute now that I cut Bear off. No more.
Now he’s howling. Top decibels.
The company may leave, sooner than expected. (Maybe my nefarious plan is working 
)
I have 5 cats. IOW, I have 5 evil-doers in my house (6, if you count my daughter).
I’ll start with Meatball. Meatball obsesses about food 24/7. I’m sure he dreams about eating Little Friskies, in a fantasy world of birds and mice.
Meatball is not a malnourished cat by any means—he is quite well fed, maybe even a bit stocky. If he had his way, he’d be morbidly obese, with his belly dragging on the floor.
Meatball spends his time mainly in the kitchen…waiting. Waiting for a human to divert his attention from meal preparation, just for a split second. And when we do, Meatball pounces on it like white on rice, then scampers off with whatever he captures. Not long ago, he actually swiped sizzling bacon from a hot fry-pan. Then, as he runs off, he growls and makes nom nom noises as he gobbles down the food. Try to separate Meatball from his prey, and he’ll make you sorry you did—he’ll put a serious whoopin’ on yo ass. Then, he’s back on the hunt once again.
I often eat meals on a TV table in the living room. Meatball watches my every move…waiting, waiting for an opportunity—an opportunity to stealth-pounce on my dinner. His eyes focus intently on my fork, from the plate, to my mouth—every mouthful, over and over. When I do occasionally divert my attention, something that defies the physical laws of the Universe occurs. Meatball travels from his perch to my plate faster than light speed. Yes, he goes back in time, getting to the food, before he leaves. He then skedaddles with my dinner, just as quickly, to sites unknown.
Here’s a shot of Meatball eyeing my shepherds pie tonight.
Plotting to steal my dinner on Xmas Eve. Evil!
Meatball is bad cat.
Naw, Meatball is a handsome fellow. And a cat. Because cat.
Meatball looks a lot like Rascal, except Rascal has a small patch of white fur on his chest. Fortunately, he does not have much interest in my food. Except for the time he deftly removed a single slice of shaved turkey from a sandwich, without disturbing the rest of it. I had walked away for a minute, and didn’t realize what he had done until I noticed he was nibbling on something that was not one of his toys.
Meatball is just like Khoshekh, in looks and ambition! The other day, he reached up and snagged a piece of lettuce off the plate right by my daughter’s elbow. On the bright side, we’ve gotten really good about putting food away promptly!
Buddy, I love you too, and I’m flattered that you want to stick close and be involved in my activities, but do you think you could maybe stay more than about 3 INCHES from my feet when I’m in the kitchen? I’m as tired of your paws or tail getting stepped on as you must be by now.
And to both Buddy and Allie, MUST you dash right in front of my feet when I’m walking? Bonus points for doing this when I’m not wearing my glasses and/or in spots where there is poor lighting. I don’t WANT to kick you!
And to all of my cats, but in particular the currently oldest and youngest: If my arms are already full, whether of produce or firewood or something else I have to schlep around, no I can’t pick you up right that minute! And I’m sure you’d rather I didn’t fall and drop either me or that firewood right on you!
Bonus points if the cat swarming your feet is solid black.
Yes, I’m looking at YOU, Merc.
I am aware that I’m very likely to die falling down the stairs while trying not to step on a cat, but I love them anyway. Why fight fate?
This is why I have railings on both sides of the stairs, and hold onto them whenever going up or down.
Well, the up is also to help haul my aging, overweight body upstairs.
My cat Wolfgang likes to supervise me in the shower. I’ll get in the shower with him off in some other room, but by the time I get out, he’s sitting outside the shower waiting for me.
Of course, he’s sitting on the one bath mat that’s right by the shower, that I have to step on to get out of said shower (not the other one 2 feet farther away, of course), so I have to ask him to move every time.
He also likes to open certain cupboards in the house. He’s figured out how to paw them open. He just sticks his head in and sniffs a bit, never does anything else, but every few days, I’ll walk into the bathroom or the kitchen to find one or more cupboard doors ajar.
This is one reason I insist on living on one level. No stairs, please. I’m enough of a klutz without feline help.
My two both insist on supervising me in the bathroom, including staying on the edge of the tub while I’m in it. Always entertaining to climb over the cat to exit the tub.
Allie’s not bad about cabinets, but Buddy is. We had to install magnetic latches on most of them, but that wasn’t enough for the one under the kitchen sink, so there’s also now a rather unsightly hook-and-eye on that one. I do not think he needs to be curling up among the cleaning products under there.
When I was kid, we had a cat that would fetch. Mostly wadded up pieces of paper. And he would do it for hours like an hyperactive black lab.
But he would not return the prey completely back to you. He would drop it just outside of arm’s length so you would have to make to pick it up and throw it for him again.
Me, age 40, “Look at this charming house with the open floorplan downstairs and bedrooms upstairs! It’s perfect!”
Me, age 60, “Oh, no…”