No ordinary cat

A few weeks ago, GC took it upon himself to prepare Duncan’s breakfast.

Duncan was amazed – and delighted – to learn that GC was perfectly capable of spooning slop out of a can and into a bowl. Prior to that, he’d assumed it was one of my unique God-given talents.

Since that day, Duncan has been working GC over a little earlier each morning.

These days it’s not unusual for Duncan, at 4:30 in the morning, to be meowing in GC’s ear or poking his fat paws in GC’s eyes. GC does his best to ignore him, but it’s obvious to all three of us that GC is no match for Duncan when it comes to stubbornness.

GC is your quintessential nice guy, and Duncan is your quintessential cat. GC doesn’t stand a chance.

I know of a woman whose two cats always demanded that she scoop out the litter box every single time they used it, even if it was in the middle of the night. And she did. She didn’t even mind, at least not until after she gave birth to her twins and was suffering from sleep deprivation, but by then it was too late. It’s very hard to un-spoil a cat.

I try to keep Duncan humble by not spoiling him too much myself. Oh sure, I give him lots of love and cuddles and catnip and I like it when he’s happy. But there are a couple of days each week when he doesn’t get his dinner until quite late at night because we have art class or our volunteer shift at the Shepherds of Good Hope. He always has dry food in his bowl, so he’s not starving, but he’s not pleased either. He thinks he deserves better treatment than this.

I know this because he communicates telepathically with me.

“I’m no ordinary cat,” says Duncan, “People blog about me. Artists draw me. I have a cult following. Is it too much to ask that I get fed on time?”

This point about his cult following was driven home yesterday morning.

GC and I were at an Adobe Acrobat workshop when a woman with striking blue eyes approached me.

“Excuse me,” she said, “But aren’t you Duncan’s owner?”

It turns out she reads my blog and recognized me from the occasional photo I post of myself here, but she couldn’t remember my name. Only Duncan’s.

We chatted for a bit, and as we were parting she said “You must get this all the time.”

Actually I don’t. Once in a very blue moon someone asks me if I’m Zoom. But Duncan’s owner? This was a first.

I told Duncan about it last night while preparing his dinner.

“I hope you explained,” he said, “That you’re my executive assistant.”