On the way to visit Nana and Grampa this past Saturday, I explained the importance of not chasing their new cat. The boys aren’t used to cats. They’re used to black labs, large creatures that want to be chased, and the last thing I wanted to deal with was cat scratches.

They did a great job listening. Instead of chasing the cat, they followed him everywhere he went, keeping a few feet between him and them, and kneeling down to call him every time he stopped running.

Eventually, the poor kitty ended up cornered in the back of a shelf.

I warned the kids again about not being threatening, to stay back from the kitty and let him come to them.

After a few minutes, the seven year old lost interest in watching the cat on the shelf and wandered off to play with some toys. My youngest, however, remained persistent. He ran to get a book, then put it flat on the shelf in front of the kitty.

“Meow,” he said. “Meow, meow, meow, meow-meow.”

Then he turned the page.

“Meow, meow, meow-meow, meow meow.”

That brought his older brother back. “What are you doing?”

“I’m reading him a story,” the little guy answered, “in cat talk, so he can understand.”