Our Cat

Our gray cat’s name is Duman which means “Smokey” in Turkish; there are many hookah bars and weed shops around this fine country acting as his namesake.

Since my husband and I don’t have children, we care deeply about our throw pillows, our new yoga equipment, and our cat. I am so grateful for him these days when seeing other human beings is rare. We talk to him, we talk about him, and we live to celebrate his little cat achievements.

The main news of our household lately relates to his new automatic cat feeder. Like his dad, Duman is a huge food enthusiast. He meows every morning and every evening for roughly two hours before mealtime, desperately reminding us, his parents, that he exists and needs to be fed. During the day, sometimes, he will randomly run to his bowl, and sniff hopefully at it, looking inside in an earnest attempt to will kibble inside.

So, to take the pressure off his extremely busy parents (who mainly sit around eating chocolate on the couch these days), we spent weeks agonizing over an automatic cat feeder to buy. We finally settled on one in a shape of a circle with six bowls that reveal themselves at different times of day (pre-programmed!), offering him kibble meals every morning and evening at set times.

This was not only exciting for the cat, but exciting for my husband and me as well. Every time he meowed, we’d explain to him that food from his new magical contraption would come out in a given amount of time. Then, when it did indeed open and beep, all three of us would sprint to the feeder, marveling at the amazing technology before us. For a few days in the feeder’s initial debut, Duman was hesitant about the whole operation, which meant my husband and I were the only ones prompted by the noise. We’d stop whatever we were doing, in whichever room we were doing it in, and congregate together looking at the kibble emerge.

“Wow, there it is again,” we’d nod, until the next time.

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