“How Much Rubbing for a Kitty?

Having some time tonight with not so much work, I thought to ponder the question which goes to the larger meaning of life:  “How much rubbing for a kitty is enough rubbing?”  (NO, this is not about sex.)

Having spent a great many hours sitting before my computer typing, and sometimes finishing my work late in the evening, I have notice a pattern emerging in my grey cat, Umlaut.    Whenever I sit down in my chair before my computer to write, my cat, who is my constant companion in these endeavors takes this as his cue to demand a good rubbing.  I do not know when this occurred, but of late his demands have gotten much worse!

Every time I get up from my chair and sit down again, it is as if his whole cat brain goes into a full reset mode and he feels that he deserves an entire rubbing from head to tail again.  As any cat lover knows, certain areas are more preferred for rubbing by a particular cat.  In Umlaut’s case, he prefers right above his eyes and his nose first.  Second, he wants the sides of his head rubbed.  Third, he wants his neck scratched.  And finally, he wants his sides groomed, in this order.  If I depart from the routine he walks away and wants to start over again, crying and meowing to let me know he is not satisfied with the results, and so we must begin from the beginning and do it all over again.

On a given evening of say, two hours of typing notes from my work, I might rise and sit down three or four times.  Obviously, a person typing needs a bathroom break, then a break for ice water, then of course a break for fruit and finally a few (yes only a few) yogurt raisins.  So in the course of two hours, my cat, having gone through four full resets must be groomed four times to be satisfied.  As soon as I depart from the computer, he promptly lies down, curls up and goes to sleep, in a place satisfying for him, on the rug.  But woe to me if I ignore his calls for attention when first sitting down.  If ignored, he attacks by wastebasket and shreds the sides of the basket with his front claws.  This seems to give him great satisfaction and is, I suppose, a great stress reliever for stored up anger, when the human sitting in the chair simply does not get the proper routine for the evening.  The human being may ignore the cat’s pleas for a good rubbing, citing “I don’t have time for this again!”  However, Umlaut makes sure my lack of response is not a peaceful one, as he proceeds methodically to demolish my waste basket.

So herein lies the larger life question?  How much rubbing does a kitty need to be a satisfied kitty?  If I only sit down once, then for the evening once is enough.  But, if I get up to relieve myself and sit down again, the ritual must start over or the cat feels mightily neglected.  I wonder to myself, “Has Umlaut simply forgotten that I just rubbed him a few minutes ago?”  “Or is his brain so little he no longer remembers anything after only 30 minutes?”  “Or has this cat, with his smaller brain out figured me so that I am being trained in the proper response a cat needs for grooming?  Am I in this case the master or am I the slave?”

These larger questions of life have no satisfactory answer.  For this question, I have no conclusion.  It is indeed maddening to think I have two earned doctorates and yet find myself subservient to a cat.  Yet, I do enjoy his companionship.  When all others forsake me, he still takes me up.  Whether my day is a good day or a bad day, he purrs when he sees me none the less.

I guess at the end of the day it really does not matter whether I am the master or the slave.  We both benefit from our relationship and we both have something to look forward to when we get home.

I wonder how much of my life is really like this, satisfactory, yet never fully satisfactory.  It seems some days are more or less both ways, and neither one nor the other.

At the end of the day, it is better, I suppose, to have a friend than to have none, even if that friend is an ornery, dissatisfied cat.