For some time now I have noticed, but misinterpreted, my friend Murphy’s [pic below] behavior at the computer keyboard. I thought, when he would collapse and roll over it, he was simply trying to get my attention; couldn’t wait another moment for affection. How wrong could a poor human be?
Yesterday I sat down to write an email to a friend. I had typed the first word of what was to be a humorous heading when, entering stage left, here came Murphy, with his drop-and-roll maneuver. Only this time, somehow he actually hit the send button, delivering his one-word message, “Help!”, to my unwitting friend. I immediately followed up with an email headed, “My cat hit the send button – Sorry!”
My friend, a serious animal lover, responded as might have been expected. “What did you do to the poor cat? Do you need a ride to the vet?” I explained what happened, and I think she believed me. Just a slip of the paw, everything’s fine. Move along, nothing to see here. I’ll bet she “drops in” to see me tonight. Murphy would just lap up all the attention, probably manage to limp a little, maybe drag one paw and look wistfully at the shelf where the treats live.
All this talk of Murphy reminds me I haven’t seen Max and I wonder what he’s up to. I glance around and there he sits, about two feet away, looking as fixed in place as the Sphinx, his gaze boring inscrutably into mine, and I know he wasn’t there a minute ago.
So I called a family meeting, and we reached an agreement. As long as I behave myself, there won’t be any more electronic cries for help. So much for the theory that the opposable thumb types have the advantage!