"Bailey" or "Don't Insult the Rocks"

The other cat to move with me into my parents' house is Bailey, Georgie's brother. They are from the same litter, and they are both black and white, but there the similarities end. Where Georgie is a bit timid around strangers, Bailey comes up to them, to you, to anyone, knowing full well you're there to see him. Where Georgie purrs only under specific circumstances, you could probably hear Bailey from wherever you are right now, if the wind were not blowing so hard. And, where Georgie has taught me his basic language, Bailey doesn't have one. His brain cells can be counted, optimistically, on both hands. Here's where they're used:

#1) PURR. So much of his energy is used up in this process, it gets its own cell. He purrs so strongly, his body vibrates. The cat was built to purr. Car engines everywhere should be jealous. 

#2) BE. Basic body functions, including breathing. Why waste brain cells here when there are so many other important things they need to do?

#3) EAT. This particular brain cell is often overworked. When we were in my apartment, the cats ate 2x a day, plus crunchies as snacks if they were in the mood. We have moved into Nana's now, and what grandmother doesn't spoil their grandkids? Here, they get three meals a day, plus crunchies, and enough food goes down each meal time to feed 5 hungry cats, or, two and a half pigs, as the case may be.
Only three cats ever show up: Georgie (to make sure I've personally put crunchies in his dish), Fig (the amazing eating machine), and Bailey. This brain cell makes up the whole of Bailey's vocabulary, easily translated as EAT. Not "hungry," mind you. I find it impossible to believe "hungry" ever has existed in any of the brain cells, even ones that have long since died off. Food appears. Cell awakes -- no, cell goes from "Pause" to "EAT NOW." (I still wonder about the "NOW" part. I'll give the cell the benefit of the doubt, but it's a damn thin benefit.) (It certainly has NOT lead to a thin cat.)
The cat is propelled toward the dish. Let's yield half a cell to motion, because it's getting him to the dish. Then it shuts off and the EATING begins.
Bailey has visibly gained weight since we moved here 3 years ago. I've tried to alter this pattern, but grandma wins out. "We don't want them to be hungry." Trust me, ma, they're not.
I lose that argument.
Brain cell #3 is pleased.

#4) OUTSIDE. This cell has an important characteristic differentiating from all other Bailey brain cells: It has evolved. OUT has had a cell devoted to it almost since the beginning. The evolution to OUTSIDE happened at our second apartment, where we lived on the first floor and the door led to the actual outside, instead of just a hallway. He made it OUTSIDE with the help of a harness and leash. "Hey, Bay, look what we have! You wanna go out?" turns into "bleah ehablea ablehea" *twist* *turn* *wriggle* OUTOUTOUTOUTOUT
This is also one of the brain cells that shuts off when not in use, like when it's raining, snowing, or when it's just too inconvenient to go OUT.

So, those are his "active" brain cells. Yeah, I chuckle at the use of "active," too. Then there are the other cells, and their... functions? Uses? Reasons to take up space? Eh, close enough.

#5) STARE. I'm not talking about CAT-staring, like "let's have a staring contest with the cat" staring. I'm talking about, "Oh, look, shiny thing!" staring. A tiny bug walks across the floor? STARE. Up the wall? STARE. A spot on the wall? STARE. Our front door has a window made of beveled glass. The sunrise comes directly through it and reflects off the wall on the stairway. The sparkle it creates is pretty. For Bailey, it is alive. STARE-ing at this one space alone can take up a LOT of time. And let's not even get into the shadow on the front of the washing machine. MY shadow. Walking back and forth past the machine amuses me and fascinates good old #5 for a few minutes. He runs back and forth, jumping at the shadow on occasion, activating a SECOND cell, #2, who is nothing short of SHOCKED. Really wears a cat out, which, of course, leads to...

#6) SLEEP. I don't even know if an entire brain cell NEEDS to be devoted to this. It is not only "lack of consciousness," it is basically "lack of cat."  Stopped. Closed shop. Brain has checked out.

Oops. One problem there. "Brain" has checked out? We're talking about 6 cells here. This cat is dumb as a box of rocks. Beautiful, lovable, but -- oh, look at that. We did need the second hand to count them, after all.