Back to school time is the cats' meow

I can't tell who's more excited about school starting back -- me or the cats.

"Mooooommmm," they wail when I get home every night. "When is he getting out of our domain?"

He, of course, being Buzz. They don't really object to him as a whole. Kismet the Hussy, who believes every lap was invented for his resting purposes, prefers Buzz's to all others, and even Karma the Standoffish will butt heads in greeting with my youngest son. (For those of you not conversant in Cattish, butting heads is a good thing. You bump your foreheads together as a way for a human to say "Hello," "How are you?" and "I love you" and for the cat to say "Feed me," "Feed me," and "Feed me."

But when the kids are at home all day, it cramps the kitties' style. They get busted before they've had a chance to dumpster dive into the kitchen garbage in their quest for the empty can of cat food that has to taste so much better than the two full bowls waiting for them in plain sight.

When the boys are home, the cats don't get to sharpen their claws on their favorite chair -- usually because it's the one in front of the computer and it is always occupied. They don't get to get high by inserting their entire heads into old tennis shoes and huffing because, well, they're too embarrassed to do it when there are witnesses.

When they fall off the table, (and no, Virginia, cats don't always land on their feet), there is some snotty young human there to laugh at them; and how can they possibly fit in their required 23-of-24 hours of sleep with Spongebob blaring in one room and Super Mario Brothers blaring in the other?

I confess, I'm on the cats' side, even though it means more shredded chairs, garbage explosions and Odor-Eater-stoner kitties when I get home. I'm ready for the kids to get back to school, too. It's hard for working moms, even when we trust our children and know they are safe, to know they are being left with things like televisions, the internet, and my hidden stash of Reese's cups. It's much easier to work all day when we know there are teachers, principals, coaches, wardens and parole officers keeping an eye on them.

The cats do not qualify. The cats fall under the category of "partners in crime" and "accessories before, during and after the fact."

If I thought every dog was like Lassie, we'd have a dog or two. I can see it run up to me now, a snitch with fur.

"Bark, bark!"

"What's that, Lassie? Buzz found my stash of Reese's cups and ate all of them, instead of his healthy oatmeal and cardboard granola snacks?"

"Woof, woof!"

"What, Rover? Ben's been visiting inappropriate Web sites and I can expect a $4,576 charge on my phone bill and at least six sessions with the high school guidance counselor?"

The dogs we have had may have had the vocabulary, but not the inclination. The dachshund was more likely to lead the way to the hidden candy -- and the pointer mix, heaven help us, her greatest thrill was escaping the fence and playing in traffic. How much more fun that would have been with her boys along? If she had been born before 1932, she could have been the model for Disney's Goofy. You could look in her vacant eyes and hear her thoughts -- "Gonna catch me some cars, hyuck, hyuck!" The cats may trash the kitchen, but they aren't going to get the kids killed.

The cats have a limited vocabulary, too, but that's by choice. They may sound like an entire orchestra string section warming up, but there are only two phrases a cat needs, in its own opinion. "Feed me," and "So what?"

Of course, the cats have a rude awakening, come the Great Day of School and Residential Freedom. After I get hit up for lunch money, fees, workbooks, clothes, notebook paper, pencils, backpacks, field trip money, and half the teacher's salary, Karma and Kismet may be dumpster diving out of necessity rather than choice. No more canned kibble, kitties. I've got to pay for Pumas, pens and protractors instead. So stuff that in your shoe and sniff it.

Mary Reeves is a Times-Gazette staff writer. She can be reached at mreeves@t-g.com.