Mr T had been bored for quite some time. Every morning was the same. He’d wake up his person with a few quiet mews, nudging him to wake up by head bunting his furry gray face until his person was up. Then he’d wait patiently for his food dish to be filled. The sound of the can opening was accompanied by the sound of the smelly drink his person made every morning. The water bowl would be refreshed. He lapped and sipped, then walked over to his person, seated on a chair staring at something, then he’d do his thing: put two front paws on top of his person’s thighs and mew softly.
Sometimes, he’d apply more claw pressure. His person would follow Mr T out of his bedroom, into the kitchen, around the counter, back past his food bowl, and into the room where whirring sounds often sat next to his kitty litter bathroom. He’d fall down on his side and look up at his person until he began to pet his cheeks, his back, his side, the top of his furry head. Then he’d get up and move to another spot to be pet. Sometimes, there’d suddenly appear a cardboard box large enough for him to fit in, and naturally, he’d jump inside. What else was a cat to do? His round gray face and large yellow eyes pleading his person to pet him once more.
But after that song and dance was over, he’d look outside. He’d sit and wonder if this was all there was. Day in, day out. The clang clang clang of the trains going by below. The sound of cars on the streets, the highway near by. The booming music that sometimes erupted from the TV in the living room. Noises and smells were abundant. Yet, there was something missing.
Why did a cat like Mr T wish there was something more? Did other cats wonder and ponder about life like he did?
