There are moments, many moments, when I wish my cats had opposable thumbs. Of course if they did, there wouldn’t be an unopened can of cat food in the house. And each and every opened can would have, at most, a nibble of food missing. The word finicky doesn’t come close to doing my felines justice. What they loved at 10am they turn their nose up to at 10:05. Luckily there’s an old Tom who hangs around the house and gets all of what the other cats won’t eat. Let me tell ya, that Tom is getting fat and sassy.

No, if they had opposable thumbs, I’d have to store the food behind locked doors and hide the key well. What I wouldn’t have to do is play doorman.

When I owned my house, I installed several cat doors for the felines to come and go as they pleased. I never realized how much of a joy those little passageways were until I moved into a rental. No cat doors and, as the house isn’t mine to structurally rearrange, no possibility of cat doors. Hence, I became the doorman.

I suppose the role of doorman wouldn’t be so bad if the felines simply went outside after their morning repast and absorbed sunlight or weeded out the avian gene pool all day. But no, not my cats. They want out. They want in. They want out again. Ignoring them is impossible.

If they are in and want out, they congregate around my chair where I am trying hard to concentrate on my writing. They begin clawing at it, or my legs, or jump into my lap, or walk across the keyboard. Or worst of all, sit on the table, tail wrapped about their legs and stoically stare at me. Ever have a cat stare at you when you’re trying to come up with the perfect paragraph? It’s not a comfortable feeling and doesn’t bode well for the acme alignment of words.

If they are out and want in, they will jump up on the planters near the door and scratch at the window. Or sit by the door and emit pitiful yowls. Try writing through that. Or ignoring them when they have their little kitty faces pressed against the glass, staring in at you like hungry orphans peering through a restaurant window.

Opposable thumbs would eliminate that and maybe I could get some writing done. Or not. With my luck, they’d learn to use the laptop and all of them would start blogs of their own. Or figure out where I hid the key to the food storage locker, snatch it and start opening all the cans.