Where is my food, again?

Ace is a cat of habit. He doesn’t subscribe to the philosophy that new experiences and new organisational methods spice up life and give you energy. He sees that energy as stress. He has watched us pack the rental with wary eyes, refusing to allow you to leave his sight and rubbing on every packed box and furniture pile.

Last night, we moved the bed, the kitchen, and some clothing into our new home. We brought the boys (cats) over first, so they might have a few hours to get acquainted, find some safe spots, and settle before bringing the girls (dogs) over. To ensure they had the most pleasant introduction to the house we could offer, we fed them as soon as we got them into the house. Currently, we have a bed and two night stands. Which is to say, we have no furniture at the house (the cats eat on a raised platform because the dogs some times snack). To keep the cat food safe, we fed them on the piano bench of the vertical piano left by the previous home owners.

There is no furniture downstairs in our house other than the piano with their food on it.

At eleven o’clock, after six hours of manual labour that consisted of unpacking boxes I packed only a few hours before, I am grateful that I get to fall into bed under OUR roof. (We are the home owners now! Poor Donatello, we are just moving in and I am already talking about the projects I want to complete.) At eleven thirty, meowing begins. Ace has found the acoustical Sweetspot (that was Donatello’s brother’s childhood Shetland Sheepdog’s name) and is yelling at us.

Ace typically meows to get Otto’s attention for wrestling or to let us know the sun is up and he should be allowed outside. That is the complete range of typical Ace meowing.

Meowing as loud as he can in the centre of our house continuously was slowly driving us mad, why was he doing this?! 

We tried showing him a safe spot in the room with us, following him to see where he was leading, and waiting until he tired himself out. As I roll over to put a pillow over my head to muffle the wailing cat, I realise he did this earlier in the day. “Did you show him where his food is?”

Donatello dismissing the thought. “I think he is just excited and in a new place, but I will show him where his food is, again.”

Silence follows. Such sweet silence, I drifted to sleep for a bit. The cats and dogs did not allow for us to reach any state one might call rested. The second night has to be better, yes?


Author: A Bookish Girl

I am working on my postgraduate degree in automotive engineering with a specialisation in advanced powertrains and drivelines. I enjoy engines and vehicles. When not reading or diving into petrol head endeavours, I enjoy running (with my dogs and husband), hiking (with my dogs, Otto, and husband), cycling (with my dogs or husband), ballet (with ballet friends), and cooking (with bourbon).

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