Black is the New Orange

I would NOT look good in an orange jumpsuit!

When the basement door was opened this morning and Blackberry slowly emerged from downstairs, his usually proud, upright tail was lowered.  His first night in cat jail was finally over.  A big bowlful of breakfast might be just what was needed to help this ex-con reintegrate into society.

He knows the words breakfast, dinner, snack and treat very well  and the times he can expect these big moments in the day to occur.  Breakfast is as soon as we -- that's the "society" referred to -- get up, and 4 p.m., 9 p.m. and when he gets his teeth brushed, respectively.  But the not quite defined time for breakfast is what got him into trouble.  He's been pushing that back, gradually but relentlessly, until the night before he decided that would be at 3:15 a.m.  Then, our soon to be jailbird worked on me again for hours wanting a second breakfast, employing meows, a paw to the face, hair licking and rattling the window blinds loudly.  So after two cups of coffee later on that were steaming less than I was, sentence was passed:  a night by himself in the basement (where his bowl, water and pan are) to think long and hard about his behavior and how he might improve on it.

We have observed over the years how fast and well this cat learns -- and how he only chooses to learn things of direct benefit (or amusement) to himself.  Tonight we will see if the lesson has been understood.  If not, it will be the Keystone Kops chasing a recidivist feline at 3:00 in the morning!