My sister’s dog, Pablo, pretty much goes nuts when ever she comes into the house even from short trips like say to the garage.  But he is after all, a dog. I’m no Cesar Milan, but I think the average dog really doesn’t get into game-playing other than fetch.  

Cats on the other hand are another story.

After being gone for longer than a month, are they at the front door when we wrestle it open with armloads of luggage? Oh, noooo.  We have just about emptied the car before they show up.  They sit on the top landing looking down, casually grooming themselves. 

When we spy them we excitedly call their names; they just stare at us and remain where they sit.  It is as if the biggest among them is saying, “Wha— you two have been gone?! OMG, you’re kiddin’ us. Who ‘da guessed?”

They stay strong for a good hour or so; I don’t know which one says it’s time to cave.  But all of a sudden, the attitudes are gone and with plaintive meows, they clamor to make sure we have not forgotten them.  That’s when we know we’re home.