That Tigger was smart enough to figure out how to get out of his cat carrier while I was in the bathroom, but not smart enough to run far, far away and hide under the bed; instead he stood right next to the carrier and investigated it thoroughly, thus allowing me to easily stick him right back inside and take him to the vet anyway.

For creatures who lack the ability to speak, our cats have developed a large number of ways to communicate to us EXACTLY what they are feeling in any given moment.

One of their more effective communication methods is that of Knocking Stuff On The Ground.

After living with these particular animals for the past nine years I have begun to decipher the different meanings behind each level of this process.

The first level is pretty casual, taking place when they are bored, or curious, or just feel like messing around. They will jump up on my desk or the kitchen table and start batting around things like pens, bottle caps, scissors, pills, or anything that is small, light, and rolls easily. Here the meaning is pretty much along the lines of,

-“Hey, I’m bored.”
-“Hey, pay attention to me.”
-“Hey, look what I found.”
-“Hey, this is so cool! I’m totally stealing it for myself!”

The next level is a little more intense since it is an expression of their frustration and irritation. It usually takes place early in the morning on my nightstand, where they precisely and deliberately knock off One. Item. At. A. Time, calculating just how many THUNKS it will take before I can’t stand it anymore and will get up and do whatever they want if they will just PLEASE, LET ME SLEEP A LITTLE LONGER!

I thought I was getting pretty good at understanding what they were wanting. But apparently sometime during the night we moved to a new level in this process, because when we woke up this morning we saw this:

We’re still trying to figure out exactly what it means.

Because we have no human children, and a lot of free time on the weekends, my husband and I have recently been allowing Tigger to explore the back deck from the safety of a cat harness and an expandable leash.

Being that it is the summertime, and we do live in the South, and we are caring and responsible (or horribly mean and abusive, it all depends on how you look at it) kitty parents, tonight we forced all the cats to endure The Application Of A Flea Control Substance.

That means that now, wherever I turn, I am faced with the highly indignant, self-righteous, and martyred (not to mention EXTREMELY grumpy) stare of animals that have been denied the privilege of having creepy crawly critters hatching in their fur all summer long. Plus the frustration stemming from the fact that I have now messed up the pristine smoothness of their coat, which they just spent the last 87 hours licking into perfection. Mixed in with the calculating stare that tells me that they are trying to decide whether or not I’m worth the effort of reaching out and whacking as I pass them by.

Life’s hard when you’re a cat.