I walked in the door after yoga today, and immediately Miyako, our sweet little cat, rushed to the laundry room threshold and told me that Ken wasn’t home yet, and no one had fed her dinner. “You don’t eat dinner until bedtime,” I reminded her, only to meet Judy, our big, mean PTSD cat, who backed up Miyako’s story, and said they eat when we eat. I thought of pouring them some food, but then I heard Ken rustling around in the other room, and when I went in to say hello, he said, “Just got here, and just fed the cats.”
This is what cats do: they lie their furry butts off. “I want to go out,” they tell us, but no, they really want to stand on the threshold and ponder their past life as horses. They haven’t been fed for days, weeks even when really, they just ate. They hate cheese, wouldn’t touch it with a ten foot pole, and they hate dogs too, but really, they love all things dairy and have been known to party with the canines on occasion.
I have no doubt that cats — “bandits in fur pants” as my friend Stephanie calls them — not only are liars but the ones who taught us to lie. And what I’m saying is the truth, honest and cross my heart.