The Faking of the Shrew

Last night I found out just how much my peeps love me. I faked being sick. Whispers: Actually I ate too much but don't tell them that or they'll cut me back.

I was my usually lovable, playful self all day. I got my 3:30 feeding of wet food and took awhile but gobbled it down. In the past week, the woman has started giving me half a can instead of a third of a can because I'm very active and she thought I was being starved. After chow, I had to lay around because she was preparing the human food, which consisted of "dat special chicken," which is what my fiance Tuna calls it. He also calls it "dat poifect chicken." It's breaded, baked chicken cutlets as only the woman makes it. I stay away when she prepares them because although she says she's "tenderizing" the chicken; frankly, it looks like she's beating the hell out of it.

When the peeps sat down to dinner, the woman gave me several small, cut-up pieces of dat special chicken, which I ate most of. Then I went to bed and that was the last the peeps saw of me until 8 pm, when I usually get a small amount of dry kibble. I always race to the kitchen because my Pop gives it to me and I'm Daddy's girl. Last night, I came in the foyer and stared at Pop and the kitchen. I didn't come get my food. I just stared at them.

Instead of eating, I wanted to play; but when it became clear that the peeps weren't going to play with me, I jumped up on my perch. Later the woman went in to take her bath. You know how much I like watching her wash with that stone; well, last night I stayed asleep on my perch. About 10:15 pm, Pop came back in the kitchen and asked if I wanted my kibble since he was going to bed soon. I didn't move. Pop came over the pet me and talk to me.

Stunning Keisha on my perch.

The woman came over next, with a worried look on her face. I'm the sort of cat who wants to be the center of attention. OK, I'm a diva, but I also have abandonment issues so I always follow them into whatever room they're in. They had been in Pop's room but I stayed on my perch in the foyer. Pop was watching Seinfeld DVDs and the woman was—where else—on the computer. She worried because I hadn't joined them. I stayed asleep on the perch.

Upon inspecting my sleeping body, she thought I seemed to be breathing harder than usual and that sent a panic through her entire body. She, in turn, had to panic Pop also by telling him they might be taking me to the V-E-T the next day. Listen, woman, Pop was just here and I get excited because I love Pop. She started crying. She started—I kid you not—praying that I be OK. All this and I didn't think she cared for or about me. Is that a tear forming in my eye? I'm really moved, woman.

Eleven o'clock came and she kissed me and turned the lights out, except for the big rock, er, salt lamp, in her room. Then I heard her whispering my name so I came in and jumped on my pillow where I always sleep. She laid awake about an hour or so, just listening to make sure my breathing was OK—it was—and then turned the lamp off and went to sleep.

Sure enough, at about 5 a.m. this morning, I was jumping off the bed and running in the kitchen for my kibble like I do every morning. I ate some and then got her back up an hour later so I could eat more. Today, I'm back to my old playful self so, hopefully, there's no emergency V-E-T visits in my future. I can't believe I have to pull stunts like this to find out the woman's true feelings for me.