I have a mug buying habit. I love getting a new one. Silly mugs, pretty mugs, mugs with weird shapes, mugs to commemorate a trip or a show; I have a little bit of everything. Did you know that the augustynolophus is the official state dinosaur of California? I do because I bought a mug at the Los Angeles Natural History Museum that has a drawing of one surfing. Have you ever felt like sipping hot cocoa from a mug shaped like Luke Skywalker’s head? If you come to my house, you can make that dream a reality.
It turns out that if you buy a bunch of something, like, say, mugs, you have to store them somewhere. And our cabinets were getting really, really full. A few weeks ago, a routine trip to Costco presented a solution in the form of a wrought iron rack to hold dozens of them on the wall. Last weekend, the rack finally got mounted and our cabinet got cleared of mugs. The only place we could really put it was right above where Freddie’s food sits. And I wasn’t comfortable with having him eat right under this rack — it’s heavy even without dozens of mugs hanging from it. What if it fell on him?
You know how this works, but as always, a gentle reminder:
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I walked into the kitchen to feed my guy, and found him sitting on the floor, staring at the spot where his food used to be. “I moved it,” I said.
“I don’t understand,” he replied.
“I didn’t want you under the rack so I moved your bowls,” I explained, pointing. “They’re on the other side of the island.”
He lifted himself up on his back legs, meerkat style, and tried to smell my pointer finger. I dropped my hand. “It’s behind you,” I said. I started to point again, but saw how his eyes followed my hand, and stopped. “Turn around,” I said.
He turned back to the empty spot where his food used to be.
“No,” I said. “It’s over there.” I pointed again, and he lifted up again to smell me. I sighed. “I never knew you didn’t understand pointing,” I said.
“Is there something in your hand?” he asked. “Is it my bowls?”
I looked at my clearly empty hands. “No, your bowls are — oh, forget it.” I decided to open a can of wet food and let him follow me to his bowls.
“Where’s my food?” he asked as I walked past him to grab a can of food from the pantry.
I scooped the fragrant contents of the can onto a plate and picked it up. Freddie turned away from me and ran to the old food spot.
“No,” I said, moving to the other side of the kitchen. “It’s over here now.”
I turned my head to see if he was following me. He was sitting in front of the old spot, watching me walk away. After a moment, he got up to follow me.
I made it to the new spot and set the plate down in front of his kibble and water bowls. I stood back to let him get to his food. He did, slowly, and leaned down to sniff the food.
“You like that kind,” I said, encouragingly.
“Yes...” he said, slowly. He looked up at me, then over to the spot where his food used to be.
“I moved it,” I explained again. “It’s the same food, just in a different place.
He sat and looked up at me. “This isn’t the right place.”
“The food hasn’t changed,” I said. “It’s just in a new spot.”
“I don’t think I like new,” he told me.
I groaned. “Just eat your food,” I said and walked away.
I sat on the couch and listened for the sound of him eating. He did after a moment. Satisfied, I picked the book I was reading back up and got back into it.
A few chapters later I got the feeling of someone watching me. I looked over the top of the book and saw him sitting on the couch cushion next to me, staring at my face.
“What?” I asked.
“My food is gone,” he said.
I reached out to pat him. “Did you eat it all?”
“No!” he said, frustrated and shaking my hand off. “My bowls are gone!”
I lifted up a bit and looked over the back of the couch. “I can see them,” I said. “They are right where I put them and right where I showed you.”
He huffed in agitation, his tail whipping back and forth. “That’s not my food!” he said. “My food goes by the pantry doors!”
I shook my head and picked up my book. “You’ll get used to it,” I said, turning the pages to where I had left off. “It’s safer there.”
He jumped up to the back of the couch and stared into the kitchen. “That’s not my food,” he whispered.
I laughed and kept reading.
“But who’s food is it?” he asked, just as quietly.
“It’s yours,” I said, absently.
“Mine has vanished,” he said.
I shook my head again. “That’s yours,” I said.
“Where did it go?”
I slapped the book down on my lap and looked up at him. “That’s your food,” I said pointing behind me toward the kitchen.
He moved over to me and sniffed my hand. I moved it to run through my hair in frustration.
“Is my food in your hand?” he asked again. “You keep showing it to me.”
“I’m pointing at your food!” I said, pointing again.
He stared at my hand.
“Just eat the food,” I said, finally. “Can you do that for me?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “I’ll eat it. But the owner of the bowls will probably get mad.”
"Let me worry about that,” I told him, giving up. “You just eat when you’re hungry.”
“Okay,” he said, leaning toward me like we were sharing a secret. “I’ll eat this mysterious creature’s food. But I hope my bowls come back some day.”
I rubbed his head. “Me too,” I said.
Happy Caturday, Peeps! It’s been a little over a week since the food moved and he still goes over to the old spot when I feed him. Poor guy is terribly confused. I assume he’ll get over it, but we must seem incredibly random to them sometimes.