Bear and Meeko were sitting with me in my chair. We were looking at the Nativity scene. Admiring the Thos. Kinkaid lanterns and the fake snow.
Feeling a little nostalgic I asked Bear if he remembered last year when he got real shrimp for Christmas. He said “No”
Meeko started purring with fondness and giving me her best blinkie eye she said “No”
I know y’all think I’m crazy (well, I kinda am), but this “No” is a different meow than normal cat meows.
I’m convinced they realize what they’re saying.
I asked them if they wanted real shrimp again this year. “No” in unison. I told them they could have sardines. No comment. Or Salmon, No comment.
I mentioned Mackerel. That did it. Big purrs and blinkie eyes.
Hallelujah! My Christmas shopping is done!!
DIL is gonna pick me up a can of Mackerel.
My kitty, Vienna, who can usually be found curled up at my feet, normally eats dry food. But for Thanksgiving I gave her a can of Fancy Feast turkey with giblets and gravy. She was in seventh cat heaven, and didn’t even vomit it up like I had expected her to. I think I’ll try a can of mackerel for Christmas and Hanukkah.
My meezers love it, at least Annie does. She used to love knocking ornaments off the tree and batting them around. You could hear her doing it in the middle of the night. (I think she was trying to wake the dog up – she hasn’t done it since Lexi died)
We used to have a cat who understood the phrase “tuna fish sandwich.” My husband would say, “Hon, would you mind making me a tuna fish sandwich?” The cat was in the kitchen before I was, waiting for the juice from the can. Didn’t move if he said “…ham sandwich” or any other kind. Just tuna fish.
Oh, yes. The tuna juice. It’s close to WW3 for that nectar of the gods.
Surprisingly my tree is not on the Siamese radar. Once 2 years or, so ago, Bear tried to get familiar with a ornament hanging on a low branch. It was a bell. When it clanged loudly on the floor it spooked him. Meeko never has got close.
Grumpy Siameezers came down while the kids were out with Gramps and Dads and Chihuahuas were crated. I gave them half their can of Mackeral. They LOVED it. They sat in a patch of sunshine on the floor and bathed, afterwards. As I am kinda sentimental this time of year it almost brought a tear to my eye :::sniff::: Merry Christmas Bear and Meeko, Ma loves your evil selves! (Nope, you can’t have Baby Jesus, that’s final)
How old were they then? Cats generally don’t respond to catnip until sexually mature – that’s somewhere between 6 months to 1 year of age. (And some never do.)
Not even a special catnip Baby Jesus? Or maybe a catnip wolf, threatening the shepherd & their sheep? Ora catnip Pharaoh’s soldier chasing them? Cats could maul those with no theological implications.
When I and the fam drove from CA to OR to visit my parents one year, the cat climbed up inside the dashboard. I could see his fur when I opened the glove box! I had no idea how to get him out of there, short of having the front of the car dismantled. Mom to the rescue: she opened a can of tuna and set it on the garage floor. He was out of there in 30 seconds flat. The downside was that in his efforts to either get in or get out, he disconnected the car’s heater. When we left, we got up into the Siskyou Mountains and ran into snow. Wheee! The fun!