Oliver Twist . . .

I bought a new bag of cat treats at the vet's yesterday. I thought I would try them out on Ninja and Bear. I had been using them for years as they were my only option to get medicine into my wild child . . . Snoop. They are called Pill Pockets and I swear they are made of catnip.

Bear had just walked into the bedroom where I was ensconced, book in hand. I called him to come get a treat. Minor problem. Bear, at three still does not know his name. He used to come if I called 'Snoop'. He will come if I yell 'tuna'. But call 'BEAR' and he is suddenly deaf. Ninja will come when called, but my overgrown Baby Huey will not budge an inch. He did however, finally mosey over to the tune of a shaking treat bag. As the aroma of newly opened salmon meal wafted through the air, his nose quivered in delight, his tail twitched unbidden and his eyes sparkled. I held a treat for his inspection and released it just before his incisors munched my index finger.

Ninja is not by nature a treat eater but she was intrigued. She sniffed her gift and looked around. As Bear gulped his second goodie, Ninja got the idea and started to lick her prize. Unfortunately, she nudged it right off the side of the bed into the waiting jaws of my furry crocodile-mouthed Maine Coon cat. Slurp. Ninja, watched apathetically and wandered away, undaunted by the loss of her ort.

Bear, however has yet to leave. He is curled up under my left arm . . . making typing a bit difficult . . . every now and then he rolls over and gives me the look that clearly says, "Please ma'am, I want some more."