My mother once had a cat called Tiger. We first met when I visited after being away for two years.
I am allergic to cats, so I kept my bedroom door closed. I knew that I would sneeze or worse if he came into my room.
Tiger did not agree with this loss of territory. He decided to do something about it. If I got up at night, Tiger was waiting. When I came back to my bed, he was there, sleeping on my pillow. My mother thought it was very funny.
I didn’t.
My relationship with Tiger got worse when I wouldn’t let him jump on top of the fridge. I knew he was observing me from there. And especially my breakfast!
He liked milk of course, and toast with butter and marmalade were his favourite food in the morning. He jumped on the table and ate everything when I was not watching. I went to work with an empty stomach almost every day.
Then I had an idea: I prepared the same breakfast, but for two! Mine was on the table, his on the floor, but next to me. Tiger appreciated it and we’ve been best friends ever since.
He even waits for me on the threshold when I come back from work!