Conditioned Response

Puff, the cat I had when I was a young boy, was shot in the paw with a BB gun once. While the injury was healing, he hobbled around on three legs. My mother pampered him endlessly. She gave him extra treats, cuddled him, and cooed to him in baby talk.

A couple of weeks after he had healed, I was playing with him in my room one day. He was actively chasing string, slapping toys, and jumping around. Then my mother came into the room. Immediately, Puff raised his paw and and gazed up at her pathetically.