THE SNITTY CAT LIKES PUMPKIN PIE?

—written by Carolyn C. Holland Imagine my surprise when I walked into the kitchen on Thanksgiving morning and discovered about a third of a dish of cooked pumpkin pie filling missing—like something had lapped it up! I guess I was naïve—I never knew CATS liked pumpkin pie! But Honey must have yearned to have a Thanksgiving meal. The next morning, another third of the pumpkin was gone. I determined to discover if the culprit snitching the pie filling was our snitty cat, Honey—although there was no other answer unless my hubby was playing tricks on me, which I doubted. That night, I cleared the counter, fetched the cat off the closet shelf where she thought she was hiding, and set her on the counter in front of the dish of partially eaten pumpkin. Sure enough, she began licking it like it was the best treat in the world! I allowed her to continue as a photo shoot, then removed her, and set the dish with the remainder of the pumpkin out of her way. (View the photos at http://www.flickr.com/photos/lmborolmpark/ ) I was impressed how color coordinated the scene was—honey’s orange color and the orange of the pumpkin pie filling complemented each other, adding a nice element to the photos. And I considered—wouldn’t pumpkin pie filling make the cat sick? Apparently not—she showed no signs of any discomfort. It wasn’t that she was an underfed cat. She had plenty of food in her dish. Plus, as an entitled cat, she joined me in bed each night, where I had a dish of food for her. All summer long, that was the only way I could get her to eat. Honey is a truly entitled cat. She has a cat door but sits by the outside door by our stove and glares at me until I open it to let her outside. Service, that’s what she expects. How many of you have cats? I invite you to share comments about their idiosyncrasies. Perhaps I wouldn’t consider the necessity of seeking a cat psychologist for Honey if I knew she were, well, a healthy outlook on a cat’s life. Below is a previously posted tale about Honey. It was a beautiful October day and I appreciated the need to meet my granddaughter, Dana, 8, at her school bus. My son Nolan and husband Monte had completed a path through the woods between our house and Dana’s house, and I enjoy the peace, calm and daily changes of nature I experience every time I walk along it. As I began my walk our cat, Honey, greeted me in the driveway outside our door. She skittered and scampered among the fall leaves, running ahead of me and behind me in a kittenish way, even though she is about eleven years old. She even posed for pictures, her orange color with white accents accentuating the bronzes and golds of the fallen leaves. She hadn’t been at our home since we returned from our three-week trip to New England, New York and Ohio. When we were packing our car for a New England vacation Honey jumped onto the front passenger seat. She was miffed when we asked her to take exit, and finally I picked her up, hugged her good-by and set her down on the ground. During the three weeks we were away she stayed at Dana’s house. On our return we brought her home. As usual, on our return from any vacation, she presented her cattitude communicating we weren’t worthy of her company. Even giving her extra treats didn’t work. She traipsed back to Dana’s as fast as she could scoot out her cat door. This pattern was repeated several times. Finally her shit lifted, and here she was, acting love-starved, forgiving, wanting to make up. For several days I couldn’t do anything without her cozying up to me, with a purr that could be heard two rooms away. If I sat to read the newspaper she was on my lap. She followed me around the house. She snuggled against me all night with a song of forgiveness. This is Honey’s nature. She is a people cat. We cannot halt all our plans for her, and we sympathize with her whenever we must leave home. She is a fortunate animal. There are thousands of cats and other animals in the world who are homeless like she was when my daughter Sandy took her in. She, too, was a stray cat, homeless, abandoned at about a year old. Today she has two homes. She must re-experience the loss of her original home every time we leave home. Hopefully someday she can overcome her insecurities. I wonder. Where can we find a cat psychologist? If she doesn’t need one, I might. Addendum: Considering the Thanksgiving episode, one of us still needs a psychologist. I vote for Honey—after all, what cat do you know that considers pumpkin pie filling a treat?