For dinner today, I decided to make myself a tuna salad sandwich. I opened a can of tuna and began to drain it into the sink, then stopped abruptly. “I wonder,” I wondered, glancing quickly at Simone, who was curled up in a weak ball inside her cat carrier. “Hmm...”
I retrieved a small dish from the cupboard and poured several tablespoonsful of tuna water into it. I then placed the dish on the floor about a foot away from the carrier and waited.
A few minutes later, Simone cautiously emerged from the carrier. She walked slowly over to the dish and sniffed it a few times, then walked just as slowly back towards her carrier. Disappointed, I went into the living room and sat down to watch the news, leaving the dish where it was.
Then, during a story about the latest violence in Iraq, I heard the distinct sound of a cat’s tongue lapping. Turning towards the kitchen, I saw Simone crouched over the dish, heartily drinking the tuna water with its tiny flakes of fish. I was almost giddy with joy, but I restrained myself from cheering so as not to disturb her.
When she was finished, I poured several more tablespoonsful of tuna water into the dish, and added three small chunks of tuna to the broth. Again, I placed the dish on the floor and waited, and again, she lapped up all the water, but left the tuna chunks where they lay. Then, she went back into her carrier and fell asleep.
So, if nothing else, my cat will consent to eating soup. That’s something.