My Cat Is the Smartest Person I know
Nobody stupid could have done what he has.
I have two brilliant cats, but one, in particular, illustrates that DILLIGAF (Do I Look Like I Give a F***) attitude to the fullest degree.
His name is Cesar, well-named by his former owner, my son. He rules, and he’s brilliant. As Cesar’s go, I would put him right up there with Marcus Aurelius.
If I had the smarts and IQ of this feline, I’d be living a dream. I would have figured out how to get everything I wanted and bulldozed over anyone or any obstacle that got in my way.
Cats, in general, are smarter than a lot of people. Case and point, you don’t see any cats winning Darwin Awards, i.e., the top stupidest death stories list. Their motto:
“There are hundreds of stupid ways to die.”
But I digress.
It’s not that my cat wants a lot in terms of status, money, or personal achievement. My point is, he gets what he wants. And he gets it when he wants it.
Here are some examples to prove my claim.
The great escape
Years ago, I lived in a one-family house in a quiet neighborhood, so Cesar was able to roam around safely. Over the years, my cats stayed out overnight, prowled the marsh, and “went swamping.”
I didn’t even need a kitty litter box.
Life was good, and Cesar was happy.
But then displaced coyotes and fishers moved into the neighborhood and that was the end of the overnights. Or so I thought.
One beautiful summer night, Cesar lay curled with his legs under him and stared mournfully out the window. He longed to be free in the darkness. But he was no longer number one on the food chain and was in for the night.
He begged. Meowed. Yowled. It was mournful. I felt like the meanest mother in the world.
When I would return home in the evening, he would greet me in the hopes of receiving an extra portion of food. So I banged the bowl to draw him out. No Cesar. I knew then that he was not in the house.
I returned to the last place I’d seen him, and it turned out to be the scene of the crime. The small hole in the screen was now a tear across the entire length of the window. It wasn’t much of a drop to the lawn below.
He’d escaped into the night like a horny teenager.
I went to bed, and he returned the next morning in one piece, angry I’d slept in.
But I’m the top cat, so I also get what I want as well.
The poop revenge
My youngest sister was taking care of the house and my father one weekend while I was away. The cat came as an accessory. My sister is more of a dog person, that executive type who gives orders and expects the receiver to obey.
She decided to tidy up a bit at about the same time Cesar decided he wanted something to eat. My sister was busy, but Cesar persisted.
She picked him up and put him outside. But he had other plans.
He managed to open two outer doors, the kitchen door, and return to beg, taunt and torture her. She wasn’t having any. Cesar was placed on the porch. The door was secured, and the window closed.
Cesar was trapped.
And he was mad.
When my sister finished, she thought she’d won. She opened the porch door and was greeted by an unmistakable smell.
Poop. On the couch.
Cesar triumphantly exited the room, and strutting past her opened all three doors again and exited the house.
She sent me a text: “I hate your cat.”
A door is still not obstacles
Currently, I live in a condo. on a busy street, and Cesar is now an indoor cat. I think of him as a prisoner as he stares out the window, but he has acclimated.
He’s not any hungrier, but when the “I want more food,” behavior starts, I can’t put him outside. So he’s improvised.
Let me begin by stating; he hasn’t learned how to pop the tab. Yet. The cans of food are safe.
The dry food in bags is not.
Nothing edible is sacred. You know how it is. Cats think they own everything, including my food.
I came home from work to the usual screams of hunger. Though it was dark, I could see that the bottom cabinet door was open and a 25-lb. bag of food lay on the floor. It is a heavy bag. None-the-less, Cesar managed to gnaw holes in it.
How did he do it?
I figured this out when I caught him red-handed, claws splayed, patiently picking on the line between the two cabinet doors. He repeatedly pulled the door forward, shredding the wood a bit more each time.
Then his partner-in-crime, Xena, and he pulled it out.
I taped the holes with packing tape. But alas, Cesar had discovered a reliable system, and this scenario greeted me several more times. The food is now in a bedroom closet.
There was no other alternative: mom 1, Cesar 0.
Hopefully, Cesar will not figure out how to turn the doorknob on my closet door. Don’t laugh.
I’ve seen videos of cats turning doorknobs, flushing toilets, and stealing dog treats for the dog.
Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
And Cesar has a strong one.
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