I have been laughing at Chris’s exploits with the cat and I was reminded of it this morning when I woke up to the dog barking in the kitchen and the new kitty standing on the edge of my bed, mewing at me with some alarm.
Was the house on fire? Was Timmy in the well?
No, apparently the problem was that my Dad had lifted the tiny cat up onto the counter (as you may recall, she claims she can’t get up there herself) and then (warning for gross cat injustice) only fed her dry food because he didn’t know where the wet food was.
Oh, I know. It’s hard to even read about it.
The tiny cat had to wait until her normal breakfast time to get breakfast from someone who knew where the wet food is, even though everyone could see that there was a perfectly capable human in the kitchen who was just too stupid to understand when the dog was trying to tell him how things go in the morning.
I have no sympathy for the tiny cat, though, because she and I are having a huge fight. She wants to move into my clothes basket. I would prefer she wait until I get my clean cloths out of it. She would prefer to not sleep in dirty clothes. So she knocked all the books off of my grandma’s stool and settled in there. I covered the stool with a towel so she would not get it all hairy and gross. She retaliated by knocking more stuff on the ground. I don’t really have plans to escalate, but I will make some up, if I need to.