[translation = when ‘speaking’ is not your first language]
Why do they do that? It is so annoying! You lean down to refill their bowls with food or water and they nudge you, spill everything everywhere, those darned cats. Why can’t they just hold back? It’s not as if they’re helping at all. It’s the same thing several times a day. Why can’t they keep their furry little heads to themselves? What is the point? I need to duct tape their tails to the floor at a discrete distance until the task is completed.
I wish I understood this behaviour. I wish they could tell me why they do it? Why can’t I chat to a cat? There again, there is not a lot of chat around here. Speech delays mean that whilst there are now words, sentences, ‘chat’ isn’t high on their priority list. That’s not to say that they won’t wax lyrical on their given topic of interest, but a monologue is not the goal. [translation = engineer that reciprocal exchange] There again, the girls had a double dose of the chat gene. How much ‘chat’ can one household contain?
I ask my younger daughter to explain this behaviour to me. [translation = animal planet addict] She rolls her eyes in response. [translation = what is wrong with my mother?] She’s growing up so fast. Soon she will be a teen, or should that be a tween and no longer wish to have any associations with me. I must try hard to keep the lines of communication open.
I track down the next one. [translation = superhero defender of the feline population] Now that he can talk, I must seek out every opportunity to ensure that verbal communication is reinforced. I need to find a preferred topic of interest but not something that his main topic. [translation = Pokemon monologue] “But why do they do it?” I ask in exasperation. He looks at me, straight in the face, “because dey are cats,” he responds, un-phased, unruffled and slightly bemused. Verbal! How I love it.
I find both these explanations unsatisfactory and seek out the little one, he who used to be animal phobic but is now a fan.
I explain my query and then ask “but why do they do it? It’s so annoying!” I plead. He puts down his toy to give the matter his full attention. I see him calculate – ‘can I be bothered to talk to this woman?’ I need to avoid brushing on a distracter, not to be confused with a trigger. [translation = using a word that is of interest to him, such that your conversation becomes ‘off topic’ and then rapidly disappears down a rabbit hole to get lost in the warren] I push, “come, come with me and see the mess they make.” He holds my hand in an obliging manner and follows me to the utility room. I point at the cats. He lets his heels drop to the floor, which means he is going to stay. [translation = tippy toe walker] With hands on hips he examines the evidence and the cats in mid breakfast. “Dey are eat.” “Yes.” “Dey are eat dah falling down ones.” “Are they?” “Yes. Look! Dey are eat the falling down ones first. Dey are eat the mess first. Dah mess is gone.” He looks up at me. “I am right and you are wrong. Dey are not dah messy cats, dey are dah clean cats. Dat is not annoying.” Post script - [translation = post blog reading] At least my 'toileting' issue are mainly limited to the cat litter variety, unlike "Nik's mum," who I am sure would welcome some sage advice. Any sages around?
P.P.S. As I was tidying up before departure I accidentally deleted my folder with my bookmarks for all the autism, disabled and special needs blogs that I visit other than those on the Hub. [translation = oops] So leave me your URL so that I can make a new one please. [translation = or explain how I can retrieve the bookmark] Cheers dears