Hey, you! Yes, you, the stripey grey meatball of a cat…
I think it’s cute that you like scooting stuff across the floor for your fun and entertainment. Hell, I even provide you things to scoot across the floor…but… Why in the name of all that’s holy do you decide that you want to emulate soccer players at 3:30 in the morning. Are you possessed? No, strike that, I know you are, but what creature have you been possessed with such that you have become an afficianado of soccer? Could this be a foreign spirit? Say maybe South American? This may explain why you ate my refried beans the other night…
And where, might I ask, did you get the cats-eye marble you were playing with? I’ve never owned such a thing…did the dog give it to you as hush money? Did your little lesbian stray friend bring it over? Is it proof that you are in fact the illuminati? Are you somehow mocking me?
In closing I must threaten you with repercussions if you persist in playing soccer at night. I will no longer leave the TV on for you while I am gone, I will stop giving you Rasberry Newtons and you will be forced to eat Science Diet instead of IAMS. In fact, I might decide to try to toilet train you as punishment since you already leave wet footprints on the toilet now…
You can’t punish cats. When my cat read your post he started laughing so hard at the last sentence that he fell off the computer keyboard onto the floor. Hence my ability to type this reply.
Then there was my late, lamented littled buddy Lucifer.
He used to bring in giant cockroaches from outdoors and play handball with them in the bathtub in the middle of the night.
Well, Tybalt comes when I call him, but that’s because he’s dumb as a rock. I think he’s part dog.
Tybalt’s hunchbacked mother Caliban likes carrying small cylindrical objects around, though – pencils, pens, batteries, you name it. And she must meow her little head off to tell us about her catch (part Siamese, could you guess?). At all hours. Whee.
One of my cats once found the box of paper-wrapped toy mice under the bathroom sink. There were little cardboard tubes and little cottony white mice all over the house. sigh
I’m anxiously awaiting the day our two four-month-old kittens get tired of spending half the night playing on the bed, attacking those strange moving objects under the blankets.
BBJ: Consider yourself lucky. Two nights ago, I was planting potatoes and used my T-shirt to carry down the potatoe halves to the garden. My tomcat came down and pissed on my shirt.
Exactly what happened to me earlier this week. :eek:
One of older cats has also developed the habit of lying between my head and my wife’s and licking whatever comes within reach. Drives my wife nuts; she keeps grabbing him and tossing him toward the foot of the bed, but he just walks back later.
