Routines.

I think Truman is starting to get used to the concept of the weekend. During the work week he’s usually stationed outside the bedroom door, ready to stretch against my waist and then demanding a couple of treats before I go for a walk. On the weekend he makes a bit of a ruckus for a few moments around the same time and then settles down; he starts to complain about the schedule change around 8:00 a.m. As long as he gets his treats, he’s fine.

I know most of my feline friends over the years have enjoyed a predictable schedule, but Truman is the closest adherent to the clock I’ve met thus far.

His automatic feeder gives him a light midnight snack at 10:00 p.m. He stations himself next to the feeder at 9:30 p.m. every night. On the dot.

I wonder what he would have been like with the audible sounds of the old school clock system we had in the old house. Earl says he’s just tuned like Pavlov’s dog, but I’m thinking he’s just a wise cat.

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