I’ve been trying to figure Twinkle out but finally gave up. She is tired of my analysis so she has offered to take over for one post.
First of all, I prefer Orriblay, the Jungle Beast to Twinkle. I don’t care how cute the little girl who named me was. Twinkle is just too minimizing and dainty. Second, I didn’t offer. I demanded. I don’t offer to do anything. Third, that person called “Tommie” thinks I’m her pet. Well, I’m not. She’s my Human and she eventually does what I want her to.
An example. In the morning, I may or may not be hungry. Either way, I’ll go to her door and call out to her in a pitiful voice. She always thinks I’m hungry and she’ll go in where my bowl is. If there’s food, she scolds me and tells me I don’t need food. I’ll jump into the bathtub (that’s where she keeps the bowl for my food and my water because I’ll own up that I’m a messy beast) and start eating but only because she’s watching me. I nonchalantly glance around to see if she has her eyes on me. If she doesn’t I quit eating and go back in where it’s warmer. I’ve accomplished my goal. She’s up and I’m not the only one awake.
About the same time every day, she’ll leave the house and she’ll be gone for hours and hours. I don’t know anything about clocks except they make a lot of noise. While she’s here, I make her think the “training” she’s given me to stay off the table and cabinets has worked but she should see me when she’s gone! I have a ball!
She used to feed me delicious food in a yellow bag with a cartoon cat on the front and on special occasions I’d get a treat from a tiny can. I can still taste the gravy that was on the savory cooked meat. Those days are gone.
One day she came home and put away all the strange things she’d put food in to set fire to it. There were lots of things she got out and either peeled and ate or cut up and mixed with other things. She didn’t turn on what she called “the Range”. That was okay. I don’t get cold in June. I don’t know why they call it a “Range”. To my way of thinking, a Range is where the buffalo roam. Weird humans.
That kept going on until it started making me feel uncomfortable. I missed the smells that used to be in the house when she’d eat. Not that I wanted any of it. There are cats that will eat anything but I’m not one of them. I have what’s called a “Discerning Palate”. Those smells were familiar, though, and not having them made the house seem I was in a foreign country.
I thought surely she’d go back to eating the way she did before but she didn’t. That lasted about 24 cat years. A long time.
She started using strange words. She thinks I can’t understand what she’s saying but I usually do. I didn’t know what she meant by “transitioning”, though. All I knew was she started bringing in strange looking food and she expected me to eat it. She talked about “chicken” and “beef”. Once when I was misbehaving and was put out of the house, I saw some chickens but I never saw a beef. Those chickens had clothes on and the one she put down for me was naked. I sampled the stuff and actually ate quite a bit of what she called “beef”. It didn’t agree with me and I made sure I got to a place on the floor that had carpet before it came up.
One day, she brought in a huge box and it had bags in it that were very cold. There were several of them and each was a different color. She let one of the little lumps from a bag get warm and then she put it down for me to eat. GAG! ACK! It was perfectly horrible. I would truly rather starve than eat it.
She spent a lot of time at the computer. I can understand why it’s called a computer but I don’t understand the mouse. A mouse is a furry creature with two ears, whiskers, and a tail and it loves to play. I’m getting sidetracked. Next day she brought one of those tiny cans of food home. BUT SHE RUINED IT! She mixed some of that awful stuff with it. Not very much but my discerning palate could pick it out. I was hungry, though, so I ate it. She mixed a little more in the next day and more the next and on and on until I was actually liking the lumps from the bags.
Time went on and I began to NOT like it again. I quit eating it. I went on a hunger strike. She’d mix other things with it and I’d eat enough of it that she’d think I liked it after all. I enjoy playing with her emotions. Then I’d quit eating it again. Heh heh! Sometimes, she’d almost cry. Such fun!
A few weeks ago, she brought a red bag into the house. When she opened it, I could smell something delicious. I started vocalizing and tried to reach it by getting up on my hind feet. She put some in a bowl for me and I went to work. Since then, she’s given me the lumps out of the bag in the “fridge” (as she calls it) a few times but it’s been less and less. Maybe someday she won’t give me any at all and then:
VICTORY IS MINE!!