Charles Notices Small Things

I was taking a bath a few weeks back when Charles started kicking up a ruckus. At first I tried to ignore him, but he just sat there at the end of the tub in that way where ninety-five percent of his body is a perfect lump propped up on his front legs with his head perched on the top. I thought maybe he wanted to get out of the bathroom -- he hates getting locked in there with me, but then he immediately wants back in when I shut the door -- so I propped the door open with a towel. He just sat there, staring at me and complaining. Finally I got out of the tub and crouched down and asked him what the problem was. In the quietness while I waited for an answer, I noticed the tap was dripping. I shut it off more tightly, and turned back to Charles. He walked away and didn't complain again.

What An Asshole

Charles Doesn't Want to Show Me His Mice

So every time I come into my apartment there's some bad smell, which is Charles' fault. I think that most of the smells that exist in the world are bad, so in general I'd like to go with the absence of odor in my living space. Charles doesn't understand this. I used to think that it was all that damned wet cat food he was eating, because, seriously, it gives him really bad breath. But how could one cat's bad breath stink up my whole apartment? Is his breath so bad that he's exuding it through his pores? Weird, I thought. Then I realized that Charles is catching mice and not bothering to tell me about it. I think most cats would be proud of the fact that they'd killed a mouse. If I caught a mouse with my bare hands, I would show everyone. I'd walk down the street with it cupped gingerly in my two hands, showing it to children and passers-by and especially other cats. But Charles just doesn't need my approval. He doesn't even want it. He just kills mice and leaves them under my bureau or behind the stove or wherever. He's really something, that cat.

Charles Eats Too Much Wet Food

It's come to my attention that Charles eats too much wet food. I used to have a cat named French that I loved very much, and I only gave him dry food. Never wet. He wasn't the Queen of Sheba, you know? He was a cat and cats are animals and the animal life is keeping it simple. For some reason, things are different with Charles. I always give him wet, canned cat food, and I feel guilty if I only provide him with dry food. If he goes even a day with dry food only, I feel like a bad caretaker.

Well, the answer came to me yesterday. The reason I always give Charles canned food is that I'm an absent father, and I'm trying to purchase his affection. I've always said that Charles and I are roommates, but real roommates don't depend on each other to eat. They have independent lives, and even though he seems very independent of me, Charles is not actually independent of me. He needs more from me, he needs my emotional presence. I think this is why he keeps biting my face.