As I wash some dishes, little Tora sits on the kitchen table staring at the sink with wide-eyed curiosity. She’s been fascinated with the new faucet, especially when I use the sprayer. No matter how deeply into an afternoon nap she may be, when she hears the sound of the sprayer, she comes running to watch.

Once the dishes are done, I dry the larger bowls and pans to put away. She’ll move from the table to the floor by my feet, looking longingly at the kitchen sink and counter. She knows cats are not allowed on that counter. This doesn’t stop her from having thoughts … thoughts of jumping up on that counter and exploring the thing that sprays water.

She looks at me and looks at the counter. Me. The counter. I know she’s waiting for me to turn my back or leave the room, so I don’t. Eventually, when all the pots and pans are dry and put away, I stand in the middle of the kitchen and stare at her, daring her to defy the long-held prohibition of cats on kitchen counters.

Thinking about it a little longer, she looks at the counter and looks at me. The counter. Me. Finally, she decides defying house rules in front of one of the humans is likely not worth the trouble. Her eyes wide and bright, her tail pointing to heaven, her ears as perky sat they can possibly be, she lets out a plaintive kitten-like mewl and rubs against my legs, then jumps onto the stool by the window to watch for birds.

Tora thinks she has snookered me with her cuteness, but I know what she’s thinking: “They have to sleep sometime! And then … I shall explore!”