Curse the Humom

Fishies From the Sky
Manna to the feline kind
NOW. I want them NOW.

Something must be done about the humom. She ruined yet another perfectly good plan to place additional Fishies in my bowl.

Every so often, a person comes by to do some sort of work on the house. I had seen this one before. He comes by fairly regularly, though his doings are certainly no concern of mine. I hear him rattling around, but once he has put his ladder away, I sometimes come to check him out. Nice enough for a human, I suppose. He lets me sniff his hand, and sometimes he'll reach to pet or scratch.

I tried to begin his training on his last visit, but the humom, just as she always does, got in the way.

First, I let him pet me a moment, though I must admit that I didn't try too hard to pretend to be enjoying it. Maybe that was where I went wrong. I allowed him a stroke or two, then took a few steps off in the appropriate direction. He seemed to take a step, to follow, then hesitated. The humom, cruel as she is, explained:

"She doesn't want you to pet her. She's trying to lead you to the food dish."

Humom, don't you know these things are best left unspoken? Have you no subtlety, no art?

At her explanation, he laughed and turned his attention back to human business. Curses.

My only consolation is that the human who comes to fill the dishes when the humom goes away can still be suckered, though not nearly as much as he used to be. I used to get real chicken out of that one.