Weebee was a feral kitten who adopted me for what were to be the last few weeks of his short, brutal life.  Every morning at 4 am I would leave seven small bowls of mackerel on the roof of the apartment’s garage. And every morning at 4 am a small group of feral cats would be patiently waiting for their early morning treat.

Weebee the feral kitten joined the group one early morn, but because he was so young and tiny he was forced to wait his turn, a turn that never, ever came. For the older, bigger, stronger cats shined the bottoms of the food bowls with their rough cat tongues as they devoured every last precious bit of sustenance.

All poor, starving little Weebee could do was look on and watch hope die right before his dull, sunken eyes, first thing in the morning, every day of the week.

He was such an intrepid little boy that I was moved with pity and began leaving a little trail of mackerel bits on the stairs that led to the doorstep of my 2nd story apartment.  The other cats didn’t detect the trail of tasty morsels because they were all huddled greedily around the food bowls.

So, driven by merciless, incessant hunger, little Weebee was able to overcome his instinctual fear of the man-species (c’est moi) and make the trip up to my doorstep one nourishing, insanely delicious mackerel morsel at a time.

Weebee learned fast and after only three mornings he had followed the mackerel morsel trail past the front door and into my kitchen where his own sumptuous, fish-fragrant bowl of mackerel was waiting for him. He ate to his little heart’s content.

And at first he would eat his fill and then run back to the hostile, merciless yet familiar wilds of the urban jungle that was killing him.

While he was eating I would continue my morning routine which included an hour of practice on my classical guitar. Eventually, Weebee decided to stick around and relax for awhile instead of dashing off back to his life of fear and misfortune.

I had set out a comfy little mat for him close to the door (which I left open a couple of inches).  Weebee was mortally afraid of being closed in without any way of escape. Eventually though, after his morning meal, he would settle down on his mat and fall asleep while he listened to me play the guitar.

One morning I woke up on the wrong side of my sleeping bag (Yes, I sleep on the floor, a habit I picked up decades ago when I lived the ascetic life of a monk). However, I fed the cats as usual and little Weebee dashed up the stairs to dine on fine cuisine in an ambiance of peaceful safety and wind chime tones of classical guitar music.

But that morning, I was behind schedule and instead of playing my guitar, I did a yoga workout.  Afterward, I went to check on Weebee.  This is what I saw:

Weebee Music Coach 3

Yes, Weebee, in the silent but articulate way of catness, informed me that I had brought disorder to the universe by not playing his morning music. How then, was he to take his morning nap and begin the day refreshed?

 

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