The Feline and Canine Members of the Household seem to share some secret, unspoken signal which prompts them both to leap up from their slumbers at the same moment with the shared goal of trying to irritate someone--usually me--into feeding them. The Feline M of the H pursues a variety of methods with a shared theme: climb up on something, then begin pawing at something else damageable--paintings, ceramic bowls, the television screen, a lampshade. The lampshade he favors in particular tops a small lamp on the end of the fireplace mantlepiece. Naturally, to reach it he must clamber up at the opposite end and thread his way through a wide array of Things That Could Fall Off. And of course, as soon as you leap up shouting imprecations, he rockets off the mantlepiece and disappears into the other room, only to return as soon as you've settled back down to whatever he interrupted. You'd be amazed how much patience he has for this and other activities the entire aim of which is the slow wearing down of a human's mental health.
The dog, on the other hand, being a dog, eschews the path of subtle torment and goes right for pawing at one's legs and whining and leaping about.
You might say we have ill-trained pets. Well, notwithstanding that my sister once trained her two cats to jump through hoops and roll over on command, training cats NOT to do something is a fool's game, as it is patently obvious that all cats consider humans a lesser species here to do their bidding.
As for the dog, well, he arrived on our doorstep already well into middle age, with, evidence suggests, a hard history, but nevertheless with a boundless warmth of heart. He loves everyone--people, dogs, cats, mobs of squealing children--and we are complete sops about him.
That Dog Whisperer fellow would have us understand that to bring a halt to the whining-leaping-pawing we just need to make it clear who's alpha dog around here. Well, Mr. Whisperer, the dog is completely clear on that point: it's the cat.
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