His Little Bit More

It’s funny what a cat’s habits can signify. Brazil eats well. He doesn’t eat a great deal, really; a modest amount, though evidently sufficient. He is offered more than he wants at each soft-meal time, and he nibbles at hard-food periodically.

Every night, however, about nine o’clock, Shimmer wants a bit more. He starts whining and rubbing up against my leg. He is asking for a little more soft-food. Originally, I gave it to him because I thought he was not eating enough. That may indeed be the case. It quickly, and perhaps predictably, became a nightly routine. Now, every evening, Brazil receives an amount of soft-food; no more than a quarter of a three-ounce tin. Most of the time, he leaves a couple of morsels, tiny things; sometimes, he licks the bowl.

Afterward, he is satisfied. He jumps up into the cylinder-house cat-tree, or lies on a heating vent. If he had not received the food, he would have survived and would have been quiet after a while. Yet something was lacking, and that little bit filled a gap.

Maybe it has nothing to do with food. Maybe it’s Brazil’s way of asking if I still like him, if I still care about him each night. When he receives his answer, he can rest.

I can understand that, since after I give him his answer, I can rest better myself.