Chapter 11. Our Bowls Are Empty
OUR BOWLS ARE EMPTY
SAWDUST
Whitney was a good mommy but, on rare occasions, she could be a little forgetful.
Take tonight, for instance. She’d greeted him with a thorough scratching when she’d arrived home earlier, but then she’d become distracted by laundry and her computer and the papers atop the kitchen table.
She’d totally forgotten to feed the cats their dinner, and Sawdust’s tummy was making all sorts of noises.
She didn’t seem to notice. He’d even mewed twice to no avail.
He considered jumping up onto the table and knocking the paperwork to the floor. Naughty behavior like that was sure to get her attention. But he didn’t like upsetting Whitney. He loved her and didn’t want to make things harder on her.
He tried once more. Mew? Meow-meow?
But Whitney still failed to respond, too absorbed in whatever it was she was working on.
The other cats stared at him expectantly.
They knew Whitney loved them, too, but that Sawdust was her special boy and the most likely to get quick service from her, despite being a runt.
Sawdust went over to his bowl and lowered his head.
He pushed the bowl along with his nose until he reached Whitney’s foot.
Then he raised his head, stretched out his paw, and tapped her toes twice.
She started and cried out but, once she’d gotten over the surprise, looked down. “I’m so sorry, boys! I’ve forgotten your dinner, haven’t I?”
She went to the pantry and retrieved the bag of dry kibble and a can of wet food. Sawdust hoped it would be the tuna flavor. That was his favorite.
Whitney filled their bowls and gave each of them an apologetic pat on the head.
Sawdust gave her a grateful purr in reply.
He hoped that whatever was distracting Whitney wouldn’t take up too much of her attention for long.
After enduring the thunderstorm without her today, he could use some reassuring cuddles.