Senior Citizens Can Be Trained!

We did it and we didn’t even know her at the time. Here’s how:

She came into the shelter and told the receptionist she wanted an adult cat. Singular. And there we sat, two senior felines.

So Sara, who gets so scared her patches quiver, hid behind the basket while I curled inside it, looking pathetic—which is tough to do when you’re adorable.

Eww, Sara, when you snorted just now, you speckled the screen. And you know Mom said it wasn’t dignified to make a dog noise. Now, where was I? Oh yeah.

The human subject made the rounds past all the cages, stopping to cluck at those kittens next door just coming down from the anesthesia. Cat feathers! They can be so obnoxious. But I stray.

She finally stopped in front of our cage and read the tags. I teased her attention by seeming to ignore her. That usually works.

“Hi there, pretty,” she said. “How are you?”

I looked over my shoulder toward the back of the cage. All the better to reel her in.

Sure enough, she walked away. What a minute! Uh, that is, I planned it that way. Let my supposed indifference work on her. When she gets sick of the others going all submissive, she’ll be back.

Yes, I know, Sar-ra. It took her better than 15 minutes, but she did come back. What? Yesss, I know, the attendant had to talk to her another ten minutes before she agreed to take us into the visiting room. Still, we did get in there with her so we had a chance to convince her to take us, now, didn’t we?

What? Yes, you did a good job that time, lolling around front of her and keeping her occupied while I did the important work of making sure there were no strays hiding in the corners.

Whiskers! I about caterwauled at the top of my dainty lungs when she told the attendant she’d take us home. Home. To the cool, peaceful environs of our kittenhood. To the spacious lounging places of our adulthood. Ah, freedom coming up.

Yeah, I know you didn’t like getting into that cardboard carrier. I didn’t, either. If it weren’t the only way to get out of that place and get home, I’d have fought tooth and claw. What? Oh, right. We’re declawed. Well, I still have my teeth. Well, most of them, anyway.

And that car ride. I prayed for it to end. I started getting worried because I didn’t remember it taking us that long to get to the shelter. It was murder not being able to see or touch each other. If I hadn’t heard you whimpering, I would have thought we’d been separated again. Maybe this time for good. After nine years together.

Well, yeah, I did meow a lot. I wanted to let you know I was still there.

But what was that noise she was making. Did it sound like uneducated meowing to you, too? I wish people wouldn’t try to speak a another language without lessons.

When she carried us in separately, I figured she was too old and weak to handle two svelte felines at once. Boy, was I hoping we wouldn't have to live through a repeat of this past year. Well, looking at Sara, otherwise known as Broadsides, maybe together we were too heavy for her.

Sara went first, and by the time I got into the house, she was in distress. I took a deep breath and got queasy myself. The odors weren’t right.

“Okay, sweeties,” she cooed as she opened the boxes, “we’re home.”

Home.

Home?

Nothing, I mean, like not one molecule of air, was the same. Weren’t we supposed to go back to where we’d spent all our lives? To all our familiar things?

I guess this was what that human said on TV. You can’t go home again.

Yawn! Ah, time for a nap. Wait for me. Sar-ra, I said wa— OKAY then, dibs on the divan.

More later, you all!