Cats do not love like you and I love.

So, I may have mentioned RobertaX's two geriatricats. There's Tommy, an elderly and cantankerous old gent who can't understand why there are all these young wimmen cats around that don't listen to him. He walks around muttering to himself a lot and dotes on RobertaX.

Then there's Slinky. If Slinky were human, she'd be about 4'10" with blue-rinse hair and glasses on a string. As it is, she's a three pound, 18 year old, bobble-head cat. Just the sweetest natured thing you'd ever wish to see.

Tommy and Slinky were used to being home alone during the days when their mommy was at work. Now they have a servant human around to keep them company. Tommy's not too demanding; you'll get an occasional "Mmraawhhp!" from him to let you know when his food bowl is empty, he can smell other cats, or the universe is generally not up to his standards in some mysterious way or another. Other than that, he sleeps.

Slinky, on the other hand, has completely taken to having a person around. She used to climb assorted boxes and shelves to get up on RobertaX's desk to sleep during the day. Then she realized she could make a little half-hearted effort at getting up and mew piteously until I boosted her onto the desk. Once she knew I had the point, she abandoned even the half-hearted effort. Now she just walks to the desk and looks back and forth between me and it, mewing and waiting to be picked up. If I'm not in the room, she'll come find me and we do the whole "What's that? Little Billy's down the well?" production until I follow her to the office and place her on the desk.

Her other foible involves the litter box. It has to sit on a rubber mat and be surrounded with paper because sometimes little Slinky would daintily squat her hindquarters over the edge of the box. So, since it's in sight of my desk, if I saw her step in during the day and squat wrong, I'd reach over and shift her hindquarters until they were positioned within the box. She'd blissfully go on about her business.

She got used to her bathroom servant pretty quickly; now she'll just step into the box and, as soon as all four feet are inside, wait a second and then let loose without even hunkering down, assuming that the hand from the sky will position her properly. Which isn't so great if the hand from the sky isn't in the room.

So, in return for all my solicitude and genuine affection for this slightly befuddled little dowager of a kitty, how am I repaid? About halfway through my second absolutely delicious roast beef sandwich she steps into her litter box and walks out to the middle of it and... makes the nastiest smelling little pile conceivable, then looks at me and mews to be replaced on her desk.

Thanks, Slinky, love ya too...