1: Get the cat's attention. 2: Keep trying. 3: Again.

Training cats and putting toothpaste back in the tube have much in common. To wit, they are nearly impossible.

Maybe you have tried this at home. Let's say you have a cat. Let's say you want to train your cat to do something. Cats like treats, so you think you will use treats as an incentive for your cat to do something special.

Like roll over. Or jump through a burning hoop. Something easy for starters.

After countless hours of attempted training, what do you have? I'll tell you. No more treats. They're all gone. The cat is licking its paws. The cat is not rolling over. The cat is not jumping through any sort of hoop, much less a blazing one.

Now go into the bathroom. Squeeze out some toothpaste. It's OK. You don't have to put the toothpaste on your toothbrush. Just squeeze it right into your hand. Now put the toothpaste back in the tube.

See? I told you it would be easier to work with toothpaste than with a cat.

The late previous Miss Kitty, the current Missy Kitty's predecessor, was the closest I've ever come to a trainable cat. I like to think Miss Kitty actually understood some of the commands she heard, because she frequently did what she was told to do. In retrospect, I have come to the conclusion that Miss Kitty was paying more attention to my hands, my facial expressions and the tone of my voice than to the words that came out of my mouth.

Missy Kitty, the current queen of all she surveys, and I have been in a serious training program for about four years now -- ever since we brought her home from an animal shelter. I am sad to report that we don't have much to show for all our work.

That's not to say there haven't been a few surprises along the way. For example, we've got napping down to a fine art. Really, we do.

This is a big achievement, considering that for many, many months after arriving on the premises Missy Kitty refused to sit in anyone's lap more than a few seconds.

For one thing, Missy Kitty has a furnace under all that fur. She gets hot. She prefers to curl up on the floor in the family room. If she falls asleep in her wicker chair by the big windows and the sun's rays edge across the room, Missy Kitty heads for the floor -- or the door -- to find cool comfort. Even if it's below freezing outside.

Another victory in the training department is that Missy Kitty still gets small amounts of skim milk (she much prefers two percent, thank you) three or four times a day. And she has, thanks to relentless training, managed to learn to sit up for each round of the white stuff.

When I say sit up, that's exactly what I mean. I don't mean stand up. Or jump up. No, she sits on her hind haunches and poses for a few seconds. For extra effect she sometimes raises a paw to the edge of the milk saucer.

Cute. Really cute. Which is why she gets milk all day long.

Even though Missy Kitty now takes naps in my lap from time to time (in other words, at her choosing), she refuses to jump up into my lap. She can jump: into her wicker chair, onto the bed, onto the window sill and, when she feels all nine lives are still intact, onto the kitchen counter.

Now, about jumping into laps.

Missy Kitty knows exactly what I want when I motion to her and say, "Jump, Missy Kitty." I know she knows because she has done it four times -- exactly four times -- in the last four years. She even jumped into my lap without being asked a couple of times. She knows that jumping and napping and petting have some sort of connection.

Here's the thing: My wife is, as you will recall, allergic to cats. She talks to Missy Kitty, which the cat loves. And occasionally she even pets the cat, and then heads for the bathroom to wash her hands.

Missy Kitty knows my wife isn't going to pet her a lot and won't be inviting the cat into her lap.

You probably can see where this is headed. Years of training. Stubborn cat. Empty lap. Lack of satisfying results.

Except for one thing. If my wife and the cat even as much as make eye contact, the cat scampers to her chair, makes a quick prelaunch calculation and then jumps in a graceful arc into a lap cushioned by a warm wool afghan.

Go figure.

No, on second thought, go work on the toothpaste a little bit longer. It will be much easier than figuring out why a cat does, or does not, do anything.

Time to go. Missy Kitty wants another slurp of milk. I wonder who will give it to her. Maybe someone she trained Â….

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian.