Everything I’ve read and heard about early childhood indicates that there is a certain amount of frustration that exists for both parents and children with regard to communication. A parent is frustrated because a small child is unable to speak, and therefore it is initially nearly impossible to determine what he/she wants except through trial and error. A child is frustrated that parents are such dolts that they can’t see the child’s obvious needs.
Well, here in the Watkins (Northeast Branch) household, we may not yet have a little baby from which to learn, but our fur-children are only to happy to teach us a lesson in communication. Augustus in particular.
Jeff had written earlier (here and here)about his buddy Augustus’ particularly annoying habit of “singing” to us all night long. He had even seemed to figure out a possible cause.
Well, many people have spoken about the difference between hearing and listening. We certainly had heard enough of Augustus’ crying, but it took a while to really process what he was saying. Fortunately for Augustus (and somewhat unfortunately for us), he is one persistent feline.
Now that Magic and Tim are finally on a real diet (and both very unhappy about it, let me tell you), Augustus and Madeline’s food is well protected. A little too well protected. As soon as they appear to be done with their food, we take it away, and out of the reach of Magic’s eager jaws.
Augustus still cries in the middle of the night, but Jeff leaps (this is of course a relative term) into action and feeds him right away, standing guard to make certain Magic doesn’t bully his way into the bowl.
Madeline also gets hungry (and never at the same time as Augustus). Her approach is more subtle, but equally effective. She licks Jeff’s nose and upper lips until he shuffles to the kitchen to feed her.
All in all, I think Jeff and I (the cats indirectly wake me up too) get between 4-6 hours of sleep. Yawn.
Bring on the kid, the cats have already trained us!
This morning we took Augustus to the vet to receive his microchip implant allowing our alien overlords to track his every move. And when the Mothership arrives, he’ll be one of the first to be beamed aboard.
At least that’s what the Vet told me.
We also talked about the slight personality disorders Augustus possesses and how he might have come by them. We both agree that some extremely traumatic experience must have occurred while he was staying with my parents to so drastically change his personality.
Especially telling is his insane hatred for men who smoke. When we lived in Seattle, many of my male friends smoked. And Augustus never had any problem being around these people. Now, however, if he detects even the faintest hint of cigarette smoke in the air, Augustus attempts to disembowl any strange men in the area.
To diagnose his late night howling, she suggested we set up a motion-sensitive spy camera to watch what he gets up to at night. This would have the side benefit of detecting Anna’s midnight raids on the refrigerator.
Since we moved to Newburyport, I’ve been trying to get Augustus to go for a walk in the park behind our apartment. This has been complicated by several factors: the hundreds and hundreds of feet of bloody snow that fell this winter, the noise of cars rushing along Water/Merrimac St., and the harness.
There really wasn’t anything I could do about the snow (except complain). Even I didn’t really want to go traipsing around in the snow, although during the blizzard I did wander around a bit to capture some photographs of Water St. during blizzard and the trees in the park behind our apartment. But by and large, I wanted to stay inside out of the cold and the wet. Just like Augustus.
As for the cars rushing along Water/Merrimac St., Augustus will just have to get accustomed to them. I’m certainly not going to stop traffic just so my cat can go for walkies. I can just picture a traffic cop trying to explain to irate tourists that Merrimac St. has been closed to reduce the noise in our park. I picture the tourist turning a lovely shade of crimson before horizontal mushroom clouds of exasperation explode from his ears.
Given that our park is frequented by lots of dogs and their owners (I make no judgement about an individual’s moral character just because he owns a dog. Really. I don’t. Okay, maybe I do.), Augustus must be on a leash. Although Newburyport has an ordinance requiring all dogs be on leashes whenever they are in public, most dog owners ignore this requirement when visiting our park. Therefore, I have to keep a close eye on Augustus, because he will attack a dog three or four times his own size: puffing up, turning sideways, and crab-walking up to the dog to spit in its eye. I’ve seen it happen when he was on the leash; so imagine what it would be like were he roaming free.
My concern for the safety of the dog population of Newburyport isn’t the only reason Augustus must be on a leash. I’m actually quite concerned Augustus will chase one of the squirrelly minions of Satan out into the road and get smacked by a car. I don’t want to see the squirrel get squished either. So, Augustus has no option but to accept the leash.
Except he doesn’t really like it. While we lived in Rhinebeck, he didn’t have to wear the leash when I took him out for a walk. The grassy area at the center of the parking lot was big enough, and the parking lot quiet enough, that I didn’t really worry about Augustus getting into trouble. Plus, I’d drilled into his head that he wasn’t permitted on the pavement. So he doesn’t think he should have to wear the leash when I take him for a walk.
Yesterday may have changed Augustus’ opinion of the leash. It was a beautiful day when I got home from work; so I scooped up Augustus and put him in his harness and out into the park we went. Almost immediately, I saw three pigeons bobbing around in the center of the park. Augustus sometimes needs a little help picking out his quarry, but once I’d pointed out the pigeons, he had no trouble slinking up and stalking them for the better park of a quarter hour. He later found a squirrel to menace — they don’t know him yet, so they’re still afraid.
By the end of our half hour in the park, Augustus was a thorough convert. He loved the park, and I suspect, he’ll put up with the leash in order to visit.