Something familiar about Mike

I’ve had a few cats, but Mike is the first one who sincerely wants to be human.  With him, it’s easy to see how cats got a spooky reputation.  (And yes, he’s a black cat.  Some say they’re the smartest.)  He watches everything I do and then tries to copy it.

I can fill up a bowl with the freshest water in the world, but does he want that?  Noooo!  He’s got to drink out of my glass.  That’s magic water, from which I derive my powers.

After I cut up fruit, he likes to bat the knife around, and has no eyes for any other kitchen utensil.  And if I get out the broom, he knows it’s really magic time, because when I use it a mysterious wind comes up and pushes things across the floor.  Then I brush these things into the dustpan and. . . make them disappear!

He even thinks the vacuum is cool.  And pens, doors, purses, bowls of nuts, anything recently worn, my laptop–or my actual lap, for that matter.  All these are tools of my magic–magic he’s sure can be his, if he only applies his wits to the matter.  He doesn’t consider himself my pet so much as my apprentice.

This morning he watched as usual as I demonstrated my arcane kitchen knowledge–making breakfast and coffee, sweeping the floor, washing a few dishes.  He was especially impressed when I poured a little boiling water into a dirty cake pan and steam came out.  Oooooo!

Then he decided he was going to impress me with all he’d learned.  So he hopped on the floor and opened the bottom cabinet, looked over his shoulder to make sure I was watching, and then batted out an old potato.    After this accomplishment, he got into the cabinet and squeezed between some cereal boxes and watched my face, to see if I would react with awe.

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