Rank

This morning I had an interesting insight. Every morning when I make my appearance, the dog hoists himself to his feet and begins to wag his tail. This signifies that he is ready for his breakfast. In another hour or so, my wife arises and the cats spring at her feet, twining themselves among them and crying piteously. Also indicating breakfast desires.

If these cats were so hungry, they could have eaten an hour earlier, or at least tried winding among my feet and appealing to my softer emotions. Why don't they? My insight was this - cats are hierarchical creatures and I clearly do not rank. My wife is their feeder, and probably about Secretary of State in their estimation. I am the man who feeds the dog. Of marginal usefulness, like a moth to bat away the boredom of a few minutes, or like kitty litter. But they would prefer I kept my distance from the food.