I had taken just a few steps into the house when Freddie suddenly appeared before me. “Thank goodness you’re home!” he cried.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, hanging my keys on their hook.
“You gotta come quick and see!” he shouted, dancing from foot to foot.
“Ok — where?”
“Come on!” he said, turning into the house. “It’s an emergency!”
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I followed him into the kitchen, the site of the supposed emergency. He stopped in front of his food bowl.
“Look!”
I looked. “Yeah?” I asked.
“Are you looking?”
“I’m looking. I just don’t see an emergency.”
“It’s empty!” he shouted.
I looked again. “No, it’s not,” I said, slowly. “There’s kibble in there.”
“IT’S ALMOST GONE THAT MEANS IT’S EMPTY”
“No,” I said again, keeping my voice calm and soothing. “It’s not empty. If there’s kibble in there then it is, by definition, not empty.”
He danced again, impatient and upset. “I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR YOUR SEMANTICS!”
I rolled my eyes.
I couched down to get closer to his eye level. “It’s not empty and you are fine,” I said, firmly.
He looked frantically from me to the bowl then back again.
“Not. Empty,” I said. “Also, this isn’t even your main food. This is like a snack. I know for a fact you got wet food this morning.” I looked deliberately at the empty plate in front of the bowls holding his kibble and water.
He gave a little whine and I sighed, standing up again.
I shooed him away from the bowls so I could open the cabinet behind them where his food is kept. I scooped a little bit of kibble from the container and dropped into the bowl. Freddie lunged for it.
“Hey!” I said. “Slow down, little guy, you’ll make yourself sick.”
“Mmm-amwwl-ayyy” he mumbled, mouth full.
“What?” I asked.
He glared up at me and swallowed his food. “It was empty all day!” he accused.
“It was never empty,” I explained again.
He ducked his head back into the bowl, but not before shooting another glare my way. “Want me to starve, I guess,” he muttered to his kibble.
I snorted. “You are in no danger of starving any time soon,” I said.
He cronched on his kibble and glared up at me again.
I lifted my hands in surrender and backed away, shaking my head. I turned to the refrigerator to start getting dinner ready. It was going to be a leftover night, but that was ok — they were good leftovers.
I got last night’s dinner reheating on the stove and turned back to the fridge to grab the salad fixin’s, and almost tripped over a still very annoyed pootie.
“Freddie!” I scolded. “You’re going to get stepped on!”
“Well that can’t be worse than STARVING TO DEATH can it?”
I shook my head. “The bowl was not empty.”
“WAS!” he shouted.
“WAS NOT!” I shouted back.
“IT WAS EMPTY, EMPTY, EMPTY” he retorted.
“I HAVE A COLLEGE DEGREE!” I shouted back. “I KNOW WHAT THE WORD ‘EMPTY’ MEANS AND IT DOES NOT MEAN ‘STILL CONTAINS A HALF CUP OF KIBBLE’!”
We glared at each other.
And then I realized that I was arguing with a cat.
“Go chase a cricket or something,” I said, flapping my hands at him. “I’m busy in here.”
He stomped past me. “Not busy FEEDING ME though.”
“Ridiculous,” I shot back at him.
He paused at the edge of the kitchen. “What’s ridiculous,” he said, drawing himself up, “is that they didn’t teach you at that college to make sure the cat has enough food for the day.”
I laughed a little, and drew my hands through my hair. “Look,” I said. “I’m sorry you didn’t have as much food today as would have made you comfortable.”
“Ok,” he said. “That’s a good start.”
“I would never let you starve,” I continued.
“Sure, sure,” he said.
“And that bowl was not empty.”
“GAH!” he said.
I threw together a quick salad and turned off the burner. Last night’s dinner was ready for another night. I grabbed the bowls and plates out of the cupboard and set everything out, then spooned up some for myself.
As I turned to go to the table, I noticed Freddie had not moved from the edge of the kitchen. “Eating, I see,” he said.
“That’s right,” I said.
“Bowl full of food?”
“Yep,” I answered.
“Must be nice.”
“Oh, it is.”
I sat and started to eat, ignoring him as he jumped up onto the chair next to me.
“Um,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow at him, the spoon half way to my mouth.
“Can I have some?”
Happy Caturday, Peeps! Freddie does not care for an (almost) empty bowl at all. It’s one of those clichés that happens to be true. Does your pootie get angry at the sight of a half-eaten bowl of kibble?