Thursday, April 22, 2004


So, I walk over to Kitty's personal bedroom (actually, our very large master bath, which has become her domain as she's 16 years old and often has "accidents") and peep over her specially designed (designed specifically high enough that she can't jump over it and go pee on my pillow) dutch door and say, "Hello, Kitty!" -In that high-pitched near squeal that I reserve for speaking to Kitty. She looks up at me expectantly. Which makes me realize that she's become Pavlov's Cat. I've spoiled her by tossin' her treats everytime she deigns to look up at me when I speak to her. So I turn to my son and say, "Get me those treats. She's waiting for me to give her treats."

So I take off the lid and shake out a few treats onto her rug. She immediately goes into Kitty Attack Mode and runs to them as if someone is going to steal them from her. Then I glance at my boy and say, "I have a knack for always tossin' out exactly five treats."

What's funny is, Kitty actually pauses in gorging herself and glances around (they kind of bounced out in a random pattern so they're a little spaced apart on the rug) as if she's counting the treats before resuming her nosh. Normally, she completely ignores me when food is around.

I don't usually post about Kitty, because she is generally unremarkable. Except on those rare occasions when she chooses to punish me for some misstep on my part. It could be anything, from moving her litter box to daring to have company intrude upon her personal domain to having the unmitigated gall to paint my bedroom thereby disturbing the delicate balance of her Kitty Kingdom. Punishment generally results in her peeing on something of mine -yes, only my stuff gets the christening. MY pillow right before bed time. My nice blouse that I laid on the bed while I prepared to shower and dress to go out. Inside my most comfortable shoe. On my side of the bed. I think you get the idea. It's only my stuff. Never hubbies. Never juniors. Mine. Forget about the fact that I'm the one who feeds her, waters her, treats her for fleas, gives her treats, changes her litter. I'm just the biatch that invited strangers into HER house. Who rearranged HER bathroom. Who redecorated her budoir.

And who does she really love? Really love the absolute most? Snuggle up to everytime he's near? Hubby -who didn't want any pets to begin with (but I wore him down with my very best pout). That's her man. When Kitty's around I can't get within two feet of Hubby. The other woman in my marriage is A CAT! Other women look for lipstick on the collar. I look for kitty hairs on his pantlegs. How does one compete with a kitty? She doesn't run up the credit cards buying shoes. She doesn't make him mow the lawn when he'd rather play with his Truck. She doesn't jab him with her elbow (does she even have an elbow?) in the ribs everytime he starts to snore. She doesn't nag him about watching cops or Steven Seagal movies. She never rants. She doesn't bitch about everything. AND, he doesn't care if all she does is eat and sleep all day. He doesn't mind that she's missing one front tooth. He finds her saggy belly cute.

Darn that 16 year old cat. And I bet she'll outlive me -eventhough 16 is already pretty old for a cat. What's a wife to do?



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