Every cat believes in certain universal truths.
The sun will eventually find the perfect spot on the carpet.
The red dot is clearly alive.
Dogs are loud, enthusiastic weirdos.
And perhaps the greatest truth of all...
Every human hand contains food.
At least that was Ellie the Baby Cat's understanding of the universe.
It wasn't a theory.
It wasn't a guess.
It was science.
Her scientific method had been tested hundreds of times. A hand reached into the treat cabinet. A hand opened a can of tuna. A hand filled her automatic feeder. A hand scratched behind her ears.
Hands were magical.
Especially right hands.
But left hands were acceptable too.
As long as one of them was carrying snacks.
A Suspicious Afternoon
One lazy afternoon Ellie was enjoying an exhausting nap inside her favorite orange cat tent.
She was dreaming about an endless buffet of tuna, salmon, chicken treats, crunchy treats, squeeze treats, freeze-dried treats, and one enormous shrimp that politely peeled itself before serving.
Life was good.
Then...
Footsteps.
Ellie's ears rotated independently like tiny radar dishes.
She recognized the footsteps instantly.
Human.
Approaching.
Probability of treats: 93%.
She slowly poked one striped paw from the tent.
Then her nose.
Then one eye.
Finally, the entire tabby emerged with all the stealth of a tiny furry submarine.
Her human walked into the living room carrying...a hand.
Well, obviously both hands.
But one hand seemed particularly interesting.
It was slightly closed.
Ellie's pupils expanded until they looked like two black dinner plates.
"Treat hand," she whispered to herself.
Mission accepted.
Operation Snack Intercept
Ellie positioned herself directly in front of the human.
Sit.
Meow.
Tail wrapped neatly around paws.
Perfect manners.
The human smiled.
"Hello, Ellie."
Excellent.
Conversation acknowledged.
Now release the snacks.
The human reached down...
...and scratched behind her ears.
No treat.
Ellie's brain paused.
This was highly irregular.
Perhaps the treat required additional encouragement.
She rubbed against one leg.
Purred loudly.
Looked impossibly adorable.
Still no treat.
The suspicious hand remained closed.
"Definitely hiding something," Ellie concluded.
The Paw Inspection
Ellie carefully approached the hand.
Sniff.
Another sniff.
Long sniff.
Professional sniff.
Extra dramatic sniff.
She detected...
- Soap.
- Coffee.
- Keyboard.
- A hint of dog.
- No chicken.
- No tuna.
- No salmon.
- No treats.
This made absolutely no sense.
She gently tapped the hand.
Nothing happened.
She tapped again.
Still nothing.
Harder.
The hand simply patted her head.
"Good kitty."
Good kitty?
GOOD KITTY?
Good kitties receive treats!
The system was malfunctioning.
Escalation Procedures
Ellie initiated Phase Two.
The Follow.
Her human walked toward the kitchen.
Ellie followed.
Left.
Right.
Stop.
Ellie stopped.
Walk.
Ellie walked.
Turn around.
Ellie executed a perfect synchronized turn worthy of an Olympic figure skater.
The human finally noticed.
"Why are you following me?"
Ellie answered with a tiny questioning chirp.
Translation:
"Why are YOU pretending not to have treats?"
The Dogs Join the Investigation
At that moment Aspen wandered into the room.
She looked at Ellie.
She looked at the human.
She looked at the mysterious hand.
Then she wagged her tail hopefully.
Within seconds Willow arrived too.
Now three furry investigators surrounded one innocent human.
The human laughed.
"Why is everyone staring at me?"
Because clearly the snacks were inside the hand.
The dogs agreed.
Ellie definitely agreed.
This was now an official committee.
The Great Search
Ellie climbed onto the couch.
Perhaps a better viewing angle would reveal the hidden treats.
No luck.
She jumped onto the coffee table.
Still nothing.
She hopped onto the back of the couch.
Maybe gravity would help.
Nope.
She leaned upside down.
The world became inverted.
The hand remained disappointingly snack-free.
This violated at least seven laws of cat physics.
The Stare
Ellie employed her greatest weapon.
The Unblinking Stare.
She sat exactly six feet away.
She did not blink.
She barely breathed.
The human noticed after about thirty seconds.
"What?"
Ellie continued staring.
"Do you want something?"
Stare.
"Are you hungry?"
Stare.
"You literally ate twenty minutes ago."
Ellie ignored irrelevant facts.
This was not about hunger.
This was about principles.
Hands were supposed to hold treats.
Society depended on it.
The Inspection Gets Personal
Finally Ellie marched directly onto her human's lap.
Enough was enough.
If the hand wouldn't reveal its secrets voluntarily, she'd conduct a full inspection.
She sniffed every finger individually.
Thumb.
Nothing.
Index finger.
Nothing.
Middle finger.
Still nothing.
Ring finger.
Disappointing.
Little finger.
Absolutely empty.
She even inspected the palm.
No hidden treats.
No invisible treats.
No emergency treats.
Not even a crumb.
She looked genuinely offended.
The Tiny Protest
Ellie turned dramatically.
She sat with her back facing the human.
Her tail gave one slow, disappointed flick.
Then another.
She sighed.
At least, as much as a cat can sigh.
The message was unmistakable.
"I expected better."
The dogs watched quietly.
Even Aspen seemed to think this was a little awkward.
The Truth Revealed
Several minutes later the human finally remembered something.
"Oh!"
Ellie's ears instantly rotated.
"I forgot to give you your afternoon treat."
Exactly.
Ellie had known that all along.
Obviously.
It wasn't that she had been obsessively stalking an innocent hand for ten minutes.
No.
She had simply been performing an important reminder service.
The treat jar opened.
The glorious sound echoed through the house.
Aspen came running.
Willow came running.
Ellie practically teleported.
The mysterious hand reached inside.
This time...
It emerged holding three delicious treats.
Balance had been restored.
The Victory Dance
Ellie accepted her treat with tremendous dignity.
She carried it three feet away.
Dropped it.
Inspected it.
Picked it up again.
Batted it once for good measure.
Then finally ate it.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Crunch.
She purred happily.
The dogs finished theirs in approximately one-third of a second.
Ellie pretended not to notice such uncivilized behavior.
The Lesson
Later that evening Ellie curled up between her humans on the bed.
She made biscuits on the blanket.
Purred herself into complete relaxation.
As sleep overtook her, she reflected on the day's important discoveries.
Sometimes a hand doesn't hold a treat.
At first.
But with enough persistence...
Enough adorable staring...
Enough strategic meowing...
Enough following...
Enough dramatic disappointment...
Eventually that same hand usually remembers exactly what it was supposed to be holding.
And if it doesn't...
Well...
Tomorrow is another day.
After all, humans are wonderfully trainable creatures.
Sometimes they simply need a little furry supervision.
Ellie closed her eyes with a satisfied purr.
The hand had learned its lesson.
She would, of course, continue supervising it every single day.
For quality assurance.
And definitely not because she loved treats.
Absolutely not.
That would be ridiculous.
Meow.
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