He tells me I ain't the boss.

I talk to animals. Daily. Namely, with my two cats. Loverboy. And Chenuska. Most of my gab sessions are with Loverboy. He talks to me, too. I'm not kidding. He makes chirping sounds. His language. I pretend I know what he's saying. I reply. And maybe he pretends to know what I'm saying. Loverboy wakes me in the morning. By pawing my face with his declawed paws. Tells me it's time to get up. And to feed him. I generally put him off for a while. But Loverboy is persistent. And later in the morning when I make the bed, he's there to help. Really, he just watches. And waits. He knows what I'm gonna do as soon as the bed is made. I'm gonna take a string. And pull it across the bedspread. And Loverboy will pretend he's a mongoose. And that the string is a snake. So, Loverboy gets his exercise. Also, Loverboy has decided that I need supervision in the bathroom. Absolutely, no privacy. He'll pry open the door and come in and perch himself on the bathroom sink. If I'm taking a shower, he doesn't hesitate to come into the tub. Between the inner and outer shower curtains. That keeps him from getting wet. But it affords him an opportunity to take a drink. By the way, during all this activity, I'm conversing with Loverboy. I tell him to be careful, or he'll get wet. But he doesn't mind. He says a little water never killed a cat. Occasionally, in the wintertime, a mouse seeks refuge in the house. Loverboy automatically goes on mouse patrol. He comes trotting out with the mouse nestled in his mouth. Softly. Then he plays with the mouse. "I'm no killer," Loverboy tells me. I tell him, it's all right to kill a mouse. "No," he says, "that's your job. You're the killer." But I'm not. I eventually capture the mouse and put him outdoors. In the hope that he'll find refuge in a neighbor's house. Fortunately, I don't see the mouse again. But still, I reprimand Loverboy for being too kind. For not acting like a tough hombre in the presence of a mouse. He tells me I ain't the boss. --Jim Broede