Crybaby

There is a new feline guest star on my blog, Crybaby the cat, brought to you first because of her habit of napping in the bird bath. (Fear not, Rosie, a.k.a., Smirking Cat mascot. You’re still top cat on the totem pole.)

Naming Crybaby wasn’t hard. From the instant she comes into view, and even long after I shut the front door, all I can hear is meow meow meow. Loudly. Incessantly.

I actually met Crybaby before I moved in, since the man who lived here before me was supposed to take her with him, but he opted to leave her behind, a subject matter I will rein in for now; but suffice to say I don’t look kindly upon abandonment. *biting tongue from further commentary*

I found myself repeating “You’re such a crybaby!” whenever I held her or played with her, because even after I thought I had identified the cause for her crying, such as lack of attention, and attempted to resolve it, by picking her up, the chorus continued: meow meow meow. Purring and meowing, meowing and purring.

The other morning I had just unlocked my car door to head to work when I faintly heard meow meow meow. It’s as natural to hear in my yard as birds singing or the sound of my voice, so I barely paid any attention to it until it dawned on me how far away it sounded. I paused to look around…no Crybaby…look across the yard…no Crybaby…look up…

Crybaby was peeking over the edge of the roof, meowing.

What the…?

She shot me a withering look, like I was somehow responsible for her being on the roof, and she cried some more. I sighed, resigned myself to being late for work, and walked over to a tree near the porch roof. I patted it to encourage her to come down the tree, which almost certainly was how she got up there in the first place. She meowed even louder to voice her intense displeasure at my suggested solution. I talked to her gently and reached up to her, and finally she decided to humor me and try the tree, slowly backing down the tree trunk, meowing and crying every inch of the way, until her body reached my hands and I lifted her into my arms. She thanked me with yet another chorus of meows, and after some snuggling, I left her safely on the porch so I could head to work.

So far I haven’t found her on the roof again. Yet!

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About TheSmirkingCat

I am endlessly trying to make sense of a world that has completely and unapologetically lost its mind.
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3 Responses to Crybaby

  1. Dijea says:

    My cat Mario. He’s got “middle cat” syndrome. Does the samething. I have to walk him around the house over to wear the fence hits the side of the house so he can get down. He won’t do it on his own. WHY DO THEY DO THIS? I guess they need attention.

  2. Smirking Cat says:

    There was only one way up to the roof, so clearly there was only one way down…I don’t know, maybe you are right, she just needed some attention, and meowing for 10 straight hours just doesn’t get my attention anymore!

  3. phairhead says:

    heh. i named my kitty squeaky ’cause all she did was yowl when I got her. still does as a matter of fact

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