I wish I knew what he was saying.
He wants something.
Or perhaps nothing but to hear the sound of his own plea.
Food, human, food! Don’t you understand?
He yowls, that one.
I wish I knew what it meant.
Is he scolding someone?
For the bane of winter enclosed?
For lack of a thousand cat toys?
Or maybe nothing but to admire the sound of his own majesty.
Food, human, food! Try to follow along!
I tell him to be quiet, that one.
I wish he would settle down.
His cries become annoying.
It’s not time to eat.
He wriggles away from love.
I don’t have a clue what he wants other than drive me to insanity.
Food, human, food! I wish you knew what I meant!
I take him to the bedroom, that one.
And close the door behind.
“Enough is enough is enough,” I say.
It’s time for quiet.
Time to enjoy a kitty nap.
Time to take a 30-minute break and stop meowing incessantly.
Ugh, human! Food! You are as dumb as a rock!
Yes, he’s a talker, that one.
I wish I knew his language.
It must be important.
He does want something.
For which I have yet to find an answer.
I let him out of the bedroom and receive the glare of audacity.
Food, human, food! I haven’t forgotten the food!
There’s a knock on the door.
A visitor appears.
He greets visitor with a meow.
“What does he want?” the man asks.
I’m never sure.
“He sure is a friendly guy!” (A cat filled with apparent glee.)
Food, human! Got food? I’m here for food! Where’s the food? What good are you without food?
He’s a talker, that one.