Helen is not my cat.
I provide for her care and entertainment the best I can, but I don’t own her. I own a book and I can open it flat on the table and it will stay open. It will have done as I commanded, wanted and needed. Helen is not like that.
For bits of lunchmeat turkey, Helen will “come” and “sit,” the latter only after a moment of grave indecision. The books said to teach her to come in case she slips out of the house. Done. The books said to teach her tricks for mental stimulation and bonding. Ha! She runs crazily away from me, up the stairs, and around and around the upper floor after the administration of turkey.
What? Does she feel guilty because she didn't hunt and kill it herself? Is it a hunt victory dance? What? What? She's not much into explaining.
I am losing my taste for turkey lunchmeat.
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