NOT Another Cat Story

It's been a few weeks since we let Fat Kitty into the house, and she has adapted quite nicely. She and Molly are tolerating each other quite well, maybe because Molly looks at her as another purveyor of that delicacy, 'cat poop rolled in kitty litter'. Unfortunately Fat Kitty and Carlotta are not getting along all that well. Almost everyday there is a vicious cat fight. The last one was yesterday at five thirty in the morning. The sound of screeching cats pulled me out of a deep sleep, and when I found them, Fat Kitty was cowering in a corner. I can't believe skinny little Carlotta can cause such fear in Fat Kitty, who weighs twice as much as her. I have noticed that Fat Kitty has been using Molly as a buffer. She likes to sleep on the back of the sofa with Molly in front of her. Smart kitty, she has already figured out that Carlotta won't fuck with Molly.

It only took Fat Kitty one day to associate the sound of the tin of cat food being opened, and dinner. When she hears that sound she puts aside all fear of Carlotta and slowly slides into the kitchen. It is the Pavlovian thing, no matter the fear, she cannot resist the sound of the can opening. I guess it is the same for Molly, because as soon as she hears Mark in the kitchen, she is there. To Molly, Mark is the source of beef, and you can follow her saliva trail from the living room into the kitchen. It’s usually right next to my saliva trail.

I'm pretty sure humans are just as susceptible to Pavlovian responses. When we were kids on Ravinia Drive, no matter how loud things were or what we where doing, we could hear the faint ding, ding of the Good Humor ice cream man an hour before he even got to our street. We would then run to our mother and pester her for a few cents. If she gave us a nickel, or more, we would run out and sit there on the curb in anticipation, all the while clenching that cash in our sweaty little hands.

Most of the time the Good Humor truck was driven by a good looking college boy, as a summer job. This of course caused all the girls in the neighborhood to flock to the ice cream truck like pigeons being fed by an old lady, and made it difficult for the rest of us to even get close enough to put in our order.

It would be neat if the Good Humor Man still came around, especially if the truck were driven by a good looking college boy. I would be out there every afternoon waiting for him. The only problem is that I'd totally be off of my diet, and have to explain to Mark why I was eating so much ice cream.

He's been in college a long time.