Cheese Sauce: The Other White Meat

Sometimes all you need is cheese.

Recently I had three classes wrap up their mini semesters. A whirlwind of a year’s start, but I met some good students. Now I can move on to other projects, hopefully returning to edit my second cat poetry book and get that back on track, along with other things.

Like being trained by the cat.

Sure, some say cats aren’t the smartest. You have a spectrum of felines: those that know some things, those that know a lot, and those that can’t figure out how to get out of the box they just jumped into.

With Elsa, her training revolves around treats. She’s calmed down on gobbling her food, but will do anything for a taste of human morsels. Socks could care less; for him it’s cat food or nothing.

But Elsa. When we walk into the kitchen and start to cook, she has a specific spot she lays in and twirls on the floor. We affectionately call it her “stripper dance” as she works to earn her food. Then she follows me to the couch and perches on the arm, waiting patiently for a taste. Once I’ve finished my meal, she sits at my husband’s feet for a crumb or two.

Recently I put salmon in the oven and had gone back to my computer to get a little work done. My husband sat in the bedroom making calls. I was in the middle of student grading when the oven timer beeped, but I figured the salmon would be okay for another minute or two while I wrapped up the assignment I was working on.

Then Elsa started meowing. She was meowing loudly, like when my husband picks her up and lays her upside down on the bed, all four legs sticking up in the air. I thought that’s what was going on. My husband thought Elsa was stuck somewhere or something had happened. We both came out of our rooms to investigate.

She was meowing at the oven going off, as if to say, “Don’t you dare burn my fish!”

Another time my husband made macaroni and cheese. Elsa was doing her twirl dance, as usual, combined with her Disney Eyes. As we left the kitchen with our bowls a cheesy noodle fell to the floor. She immediately rushed over.

“You need to pick that up, she won’t eat the noodle,” I stated as she sniffed it.

“Yes she will. Look she’s chowing down.” It did appear she was eating.

But then she walked away. She had licked off all the cheese sauce and had no interest in that noodle.

“That cat,” my husband said. “She is soooo spoiled.”

“Yes she is the Queen of the House.” Elsa proceeded to follow us to the couch.

So I would say Elsa has us trained pretty well to get treats here and there. It’s just the opposite with the dogs. I have Sammy and Emma trained to sit inside the gate when it opens and closes; when they do they get treats. It seems when it comes to food, cats are smarter than dogs. Of course, my husband would say the dogs’ strategy was just more camouflaged.

Whatever the case may be, as you can tell our animals are well fed and zoom around contentedly, as dogs and cats should do. And it’s cute and all except when Elsa runs off with my stuff. One time my husband was messing with my watch and waving it in her face; she grabbed it in her mouth, ran off, and dove under the bed. I was so mad when I came back to get my watch and he told me the story. How hard is it to hold onto things and keep them away from fat kitties?

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