Making Biscuits – Why Cats Do That Thing

Making Biscuits – Why Cats Do That Thing

By Jack Wilson

Cats need to knead. Nobody knows much about why cats do anything. There are many notions but few dependable facts. The usual suspects are: The cat is reverting to kitten behavior in which the mother is not producing an immediate supply of milk and the kneading opens the gates. Seems reasonable and likely. I have many cats. Actually I have two, they just seem like many. One kneads often, the other-never.

Some suggest that the cat who kneads in adulthood was weaned too early. Maybe so. (I guess I should explain that ‘making biscuits’ is a colloquialism for kneading. Sounds good to me).

Some say that the cat who kneads in adulthood was weaned too late. For this we need scientists?

Who can say? Purring is even worse. It seems that cats purr as they are dying. How does that relate to all the happy purring? The kiss of death? No, that’s a whole other scenario. Purr them an offer they can’t refuse. I don’t know.

The Rising Rump Syndrome is another matter and cannot be discussed without adult supervision.

Some of my two cats are chicken and some are bold. I say some because they switch sides; one day chicken one day bold. They sniff-to-death things they have sniffed for years as if they had never sniffed them before. I bring in a new object; they don’t know it exists. Two days later it is the exclusive property of one and the other should drop dead before touching it.

I bring home an elegant cat toy full of catnip and bells. They play with the bag. I’m gone for a week and a neighbor feeds them. I come home, they never heard of me.

A stranger comes to the door, they run for the hills. A friend they have met a hundred times comes to the door, they run for the hills. I come home from shopping. They yawn.

I’m trying to watch television; plop, right in front of my eyes. I go make dinner, plop, right on the counter. I go to the bathroom; plop, all over me.

Now I want to pet and cuddle; sorry, sleeping time. I run the vacuum, I’m Frankenstein. I get a piece fish; oy! What can I tell you?

People write books about cats. What do they know? All they got is facts. You want to know about cats? You don’t want to know.

You can look at my cats on my website below.

Jack Wilson owns cats, or vice versa, in Tempe. Arizona

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