Each of my three cats have different personalities. Belle, the oldest, is laid-back and fearless. She’s quiet, rarely complains, and wants to be wherever I am–especially if I am in the kitchen.  Her favorite place there is between my feet. “Whatcha doin’? Whatcha makin’? Can I have some?” She never makes a sound, but she makes her presence and desires known by her proximity. Usually, to keep her out from under foot, I set out a plate for her of whatever she might like (she’ll eat pretty much anything, but she’s not crazy about onions), so we can share the kitchen in peace.

PB, the rescue kitty, is just the opposite. She’s vocal. When she wants something, she lets you know with high pitched mews that won’t stop until she gets her way. Usually what she wants is something she can’t get for herself. For the most part, I’ve left her for the older two cats to discipline, and apparently they have. When she first moved in, she assumed she’d be the queen feline. Belle set her straight right off the bat. PB thought she’d fight her way to the top, but after all the cats but Bug got their claws removed (Bug has a condition, and the doctor wasn’t willing to do surgery on her), Bug refused to be bullied any longer. With me, PB usually gets her way. Anything to make her hush!

Before she discovered herself to be the last of the  clawed kitties, Bug had always been quiet, shy, scared of her own shadow. She’s still scared of everything–except PB, that is. Bug’s the one who’ll come to me while I’m sitting at my desk and rub her head against my bare feet. She’s between Belle and PB in vocality. The most she’ll say at one time is, “maaa.” During the entire sixteen years of her life, I’d always believed she had a speech impediment.

Then one day late last month, I heard an unusual feline voice in the kitchen, and had to discover who it was. You guessed it–Bug.

She sat in picture perfect stance in the middle of the floor singing a kitty aria in a surprisingly good and unoffensive voice, for a cat. Her head tilted up, her tail flicked now and then, and she just sang her little heart out. I have no idea what prompted it, who she was singing to, or why. And she hasn’t done it since.

As an author shouldering the burden of marketing my books, I can learn from these pets of mine: Make your presence known. Make your voice heard. Do something different.

For me as a Christian, the lessons carry just as strong of an impact: Seek the Lord’s blessings. Cry out to him in times of trouble. Sing his praises.

God blessed me with smart kitties. 😉