The Adventures of PadFoots & ToeBeans #021
….excuse me?!
AFTERNOON INTERRUPTED 🐾
🐾 A peaceful slumber abruptly suspended for eavesdropping on deeply concerning procurement discussions in which I should have been involved.
There I was...
basking in the warm glow of the afternoon sun on my dining room table pillow.
My pillow.
My table.
My sunbeam.
Everything exactly where it belonged.
I had chosen this location carefully.
Sarah does not bother me here.
There is nothing adventurous about the dining room table.
No curtains to summit.
No mysterious openings.
No dangling objects.
No opportunity to suddenly become airborne.
Just a pillow.
A sunbeam.
And me.
Perfect.
I drifted into the sort of peaceful afternoon slumber available only to those who have successfully delegated all actual household responsibilities.
The kingdom had finally settled into something resembling order.
Finan was on the couch with Big Human.
Obviously.
At this point, I believe Finan considers Big Human upholstered furniture.
Lil Human was coloring.
Sarah was chasing some sort of toy down the hallway at a perfectly acceptable distance from me.
Every few seconds:
thump-thump-thump-thump—
Silence.
Then:
thump-thump-thump-thump—
Back the other direction.
Acceptable.
Everyone had a place.
More importantly, everyone was in it.
My eyes closed.
The sun was warm.
The kingdom was peaceful.
And for once, no one required my supervision.
Then I heard:
“Mommy? Sarah's a girl, right?”
One ear moved.
Big Human answered.
“Yep.”
Fine.
Established fact.
Thoroughly documented.
My ear returned to its previous position.
And then:
“Are we gonna get a boy like this one too?”
...
My eyes opened.
My head came up.
AFTERNOON SLUMBER: SUSPENDED.
Excuse me?
If we are conducting procurement discussions, why am I learning about them through eavesdropping?
I am the King.
I should not have to overhear my own administration.
I lifted my head higher.
Surely I had misunderstood.
Perhaps she said toy.
Are we going to get a toy like this one too?
Reasonable.
Children enjoy toys.
We should get several.
Then Big Human said something along the lines of:
“Well, we have Sarah, Finan, and Marlowe...”
YES.
Exactly.
Thank you, Big Human.
Finally, someone is approaching this matter with basic arithmetic.
Sarah.
Finan.
Me.
That's three.
Three cats.
An excellent number of cats.
One might even argue it is the maximum sensible number of cats.
I certainly would.
We have three cats.
We have three color-coded bowls.
We have three bathroom facilities.
We have an enormous exercise wheel that I personally refuse to use.
The system is complete.
Procurement is CLOSED.
Except...
Big Human did not actually say no.
She made one of those vague Human noises.
Noncommittal.
Dangerous.
I sat up.
The sunbeam was forgotten.
This required attention.
Lil Human returned to coloring as though she had not just reopened a matter of national importance.
I began calculations.
Another cat means another bowl.
Another bowl means another portion.
Another portion means additional competition for the available wet-food resources.
Sarah already receives more than Finan and me due to the highly questionable “she's growing” policy.
What if the next one is growing too?
How many growing cats can one household sustain before the established adult population begins experiencing ration instability?
And what kind of cat are we discussing?
Another girl?
Absolutely not.
We already have one.
Sarah has adequately filled the household's position for Female Cat Who Yells and Climbs Things.
There is no vacancy.
But then...
I remembered something.
The Large Male.
The original proposal.
My proposal.
Before the Sarah procurement error.
A substantial Maine Coon.
Large paws.
Considerable mass.
Calm temperament.
Potential security applications.
Royal Guard.
Hmm.
A large boy cat would be different.
Not necessary.
Let's be very clear about that.
But...
different.
There are legitimate operational considerations.
For example, Malachi remains Malachi.
Additional security never hurts.
A large male could patrol the premises.
Stand watch.
Provide physical presence.
Perhaps discourage Sarah from making poor decisions.
Although...
Sarah appears largely immune to discouragement.
Still.
There is one concern.
Would a giant boy cat eat Sarah?
I considered this.
Sarah ran down the hallway.
thump-thump-thump-thump—
Small.
Fluffy.
Approximately snack-shaped.
Hmm.
Obviously, we cannot permit Sarah to be eaten.
Big Human seems attached to her.
Lil Human would be devastated.
Finan might notice eventually.
And I...
Well.
Sarah has become...
useful.
Also occasionally entertaining.
So no.
No kitten sacrifice.
However, perhaps there is a compromise.
What if we did not add another cat?
What if we...
traded?
Now, I acknowledge that Sarah has become surprisingly useful.
And yes, Big Human and Lil Human have developed a rather significant fondness for her.
But these are clearly subjective emotional considerations.
A dedicated protective security detail for the King, on the other paw, is an objective matter of national security.
Surely national security takes precedence over things like...
attachment.
And love.
And Lil Human apparently considering Sarah one of her closest personal associates.
These are important considerations.
Just...
less important than mine.
So perhaps we trade Sarah for one large male security officer.
No increase in bowls.
No increase in bathrooms.
Cat population remains three.
Royal Guard vacancy filled.
Food-resource impact minimal.
Honestly, this is less a trade and more an administrative upgrade.
Efficient.
Responsible.
Sensible leadership.
...
I looked down the hallway.
Sarah came charging back after her toy, skidded slightly around the corner, recovered with absolutely no dignity, and disappeared again.
Hmm.
Big Human would never agree to this.
Lil Human would probably declare war.
And...
I suppose Sarah lives here now.
Fine.
Sarah stays.
But I would like it noted that I attempted to approach this matter without emotion.
Which brings us back to the potential fourth cat.
No.
Absolutely unnecessary.
Unless...
Large male.
Security.
Royal Guard.
Very large.
Calm.
Doesn't eat Sarah.
Understands food boundaries.
Recognizes monarchy.
Doesn't require my pillow.
Doesn't expect equal rank.
Doesn't steal wet food.
Preferably believes cardio is beneath him.
...
This could work.
No.
STOP.
This is how they get me.
Lil Human asks one innocent question and suddenly I am drafting candidate requirements.
I was asleep in a sunbeam five minutes ago.
I had peace.
I had stability.
I had a pillow.
Now I am conducting hypothetical interviews for a position that does not exist.
Big Human remained frustratingly noncommittal.
Perhaps this is encouraging.
Perhaps she has finally developed some restraint.
Perhaps she looked around at three cats, two Padfoots, one Lil Human, multiple litter facilities, a feline fitness center, individualized dining equipment, and the continuing Sarah Infrastructure Program and thought:
You know what? This is enough.
Yes.
Surely.
Big Human can be pragmatic.
Big Human understands logistics.
Big Human understands expenses.
Big Human understands that every new cat eventually becomes another creature whose poop she discusses far more than any reasonable person should.
She will say no.
Probably.
...
Why hasn't she said no?
I stared at her from the table.
Big Human did not look at me.
Suspicious.
I narrowed my eyes.
She continued sitting there with Finan.
More suspicious.
Finan was asleep.
Useless.
Lil Human colored.
Sarah continued assaulting the hallway.
And just like that, everyone had returned to their peaceful afternoon.
Everyone...
except me.
This is the fundamental problem with monarchy in this household.
They call me King.
They photograph me like a King.
They provide pillows appropriate for a King.
I have repeatedly identified myself in official documentation as King of the Household.
And yet when major personnel decisions arise...
NO ONE CONSULTS THE KING.
Sarah simply appeared.
I was informed after procurement.
Finan's temporary status became suspiciously permanent without a formal vote.
And now Lil Human is apparently opening preliminary discussions regarding Cat Number Four while I am trying to enjoy afternoon sunlight.
No.
Not this time.
If another cat is being considered, I demand representation.
I want specifications.
Male or female?
Age?
Size?
Expected adult weight?
Food requirements?
Bathroom preferences?
Climbing tendencies?
Wet-food consumption?
Monarchy recognition?
Likelihood of eating Sarah?
These are reasonable questions.
And if—and I emphasize IF—Big Human is considering a very large, calm male Maine Coon suitable for Royal Guard duties...
I am prepared to review the application.
That is not approval.
It is not enthusiasm.
It is certainly not a request for another cat.
It is simply responsible leadership.
I am keeping an open mind.
Very slightly open.
For security purposes.
Sarah streaked down the hallway again.
thump-thump-thump-thump—
Finan remained asleep against Big Human.
Lil Human continued coloring.
Big Human said nothing else about cats.
Eventually, the sunbeam reached my paws again.
I lowered my head.
Perhaps nothing will come of it.
Perhaps this entire matter will disappear.
Perhaps Big Human has enough sense to understand that we do not need another cat.
...
Although a very large male security cat would look impressive near my table.
No.
Enough.
I am returning to my afternoon.
But I am watching Big Human.
Because I have learned something in this household:
First, Lil Human asks an innocent question.
Then Big Human becomes noncommittal.
Then everyone behaves as though nothing happened.
And eventually...
there is a carrier.
I will not be caught unprepared twice.
My afternoon has been permanently compromised.