Oh, there are two other things. One - he likes to have conversations with either Keith or myself. He will sit next to us and meow. Of course, we answer back with our Cat Language 101 lessons we've mastered. Face will answer back, then we answer, and so on and so forth.
Then, comes the battle of the box - the litter box, that is. It gets cleaned every 4-5 days, give or take. When I clean it, I always start with a cold beer and a few cigs. I know that from the time I start to clean that box, until the time I finish, it's going to be 5 o'clock somewhere.
Once the beer and smokes are set up, I get the "quiet stuff" - broom, dust pan, trash bag. I get these things together first because I know that the minute I move the fresh litter container out from under the v-berth, no matter where Face is napping on the boat, he's going to be right there to supervise this particular chore. And he starts by tripping me as I lug the container back to the nav station where we have his litter box.
Getting the litter box from under the Nav bench and cleaning it out is easy enough. I just avoid looking at Face as he sits as close as he can and stares at me in his attempt to intimidate a well done job.
Once the litter box is clean and any spills swept up, the chore becomes a sport. I switch into my "goalie" mode to protect the box from Face hopping in to either examine or use it. It becomes a contest of wills as Face circles around me looking for a chance to pounce.
There have actually been times that I have held the box high with one hand and wagged my finger at him with the other hand, lecturing him on allowing me to finish the job.
I finally manage to find a stance that protects the box to fill it with fresh litter, and keep Face at bay, only to keep looking over at the area where we keep the box as I scoop the fresh litter. Why? Because that darn cat is over there, circling and sniffing around as if he's going to use his box whether the box is there or not.
So, I spend the next few minutes guarding the box, furiously scooping fresh litter, and looking over my shoulder at a cat who seems to relish such a game.
I finally get the box filled, shoo him away from the Nav Station, get the box all set up and done. And it never fails - he sniffs around and over the box, then goes back to his favorite place to continue his afternoon nap.
It's five o'clock somewhere!
He's really not as innocent as he looks
