Thanks in part to a pink foam ball she would lie down on railroad tracks for, Joon has shown herself to officially be—rather than just hinting at being—a retrieving cat. If I’m at the laptop, she drops the ball on my feet, then stares at me until my skin begins to peel off. If I’m in bed, she jumps on the bed, drops it by my hip and stares at me until my skin begins to peel off. If I’m on the toilet, she brings it into the bathroom, drops it at my feet and stares at me until my skin begins to peel off. To my detriment, I find this utterly charming and almost always capitulate to her demand—regardless of the delicacy of my, erm, “situation”—turning the whole thing into an unending throw-retrieve-drop-throw cycle.
Over the last week, this behavior has morphed into a gathering of—if not quite retrieving of—other objects. Now when I open my bedroom door in the morning, I trip over three or four other toys that have been piled at the door. (When I'm at my groggiest, the ones that crinkle or squeak give me quite a start.) However, this bringing of arbitrary things to me completely bit her on her furry butt this morning.
Occasionally Joon makes an unusual noise when she retrieves a toy, an unearthly, loud, phlegmy yowl. This morning when I was lying in bed (the door was open and I was lolling, it being the weekend), she walked up to the side of the bed and yowled insistently. I peered over the side of the bed to see what today’s offering was and, woe unto her...it was a ball of yarn. A ball of yarn that, not 30 seconds before, had been in my purse. This was the equivalent of walking into a police station and announcing, “Hey, popo! Look'it what I stole!” Needless to say, that yarn-and-yowling combo didn’t work too well for her. The yarn was removed and, well, that was it, just…removed. She wants me to know that that’s not how the game is supposed to be played.