I don't know about that. The other day I was trying to teach Sasha to "Fetch!" I waved a stick inches from the dainty Siamese's nose and spoke in a voice just oozing with "Aren't we having a great time?"
"Get it, Girl! Bring me the stick. Good Girl!" I threw the stick nearby, an easy fetch. The cat yawned and looked at me, then put her head down on her paws and watched me retrieve the stick.
Ever hopeful, I tried again. I just knew that Sasha would fetch the stick, I just knew it. Somehow, if I could only get the right amount of excitement in my voice, it would happen. After all, that's what cats do when people throw sticks; they "Get the stick." Again Sasha just lay there.
I muttered as I retrieved the stick. I knew the cat wasn't lazy or stupid; she was always ready for a romp or play. But why on earth did that cat just lie there and grin her big, kittie grin and refuse to get the stick?
I waved the stick enticingly just out of reach of her teeth and coaxed Sasha with my most winning voice. Lightly I tossed the stick a few inches The cat didn't move.
Disgusted, I turned and strode toward the house, intending to drown my sorrows in root beer. Sasha leaped to her feet, scooped up the stick, and presented it, placing it exactly in my hand.
"Yayy, she did it! Go get it, Sasha, go get the stick!" I threw the stick again. The cat yawned and flopped at my feet. I stamped my foot and pointed. "Bring me that stick, or so help me, I'll whop you over the head with it." The cat grinned.
I ran and snatched up the stick, then began chasing her with it. Of course, I had no intention of hitting her, and from the expression of pure animal spirits on her face, you could tell she knew she was in no danger. At last I dropped the stick and headed for the house, determined to try again later.
Sasha quickly picked up the stick from where it lay on the grass and presented it to me once more. Then came the dawn; she was teaching me to do the fetching.