I’ve noticed when I pick up the guitar and the cat Zoe is hanging out, she’ll scurry off to a quieter corner. Cats have excellent ears.
Yesterday, home from the afternoon music theory class I’ve been taking, I organized my notes and handouts, reviewing each page. I left the pages in neat piles on the dining room table.
This morning, I go to resume my music musing, and what do I find but the cat music critic’s overnight review – Zoe had barfed over my notes.
Cats are excellent communicators. I’m glad she doesn’t tweet.
The Coming of the Toads 
Looks like puss has failed to paws long enough to lap up the melody.
Milking the situation for all its worth.
Spent too long on the hot tin roof and chucked the cat gut everywhere.
That fur ball had to go.
Puts a slant on the cats meow Joe.
B
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Cat’s a John Cage music type.
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Looks like Zoe sang out her heart and soul, and stomach.
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Punk rocker type cat.
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