He just batted my bare leg as I walked by moments ago. Drew blood. Hadn't done that in a long, long time. My days are numbered, I'm sure. He's hiding and pouting at the moment because I yelled at him. I obviously don't know my place, and further training will ensue.
Of course, what brought this all on - I kicked him out of bed last night because he wouldn't lie down. Kept walking around. He knows better. So, out he went. Plus, I washed some dishes and rummaged around earlier making a big batch of ham 'n beans, and I didn't get him his daily dose of chunky wet in the foil pouch cat food. He gets it when he's been good, even though he thinks it's in his Bill of Rights that he receives this treat on demand.
I'm sure he was combating the Big Statist Oppressive Government. Tensions are escalating. This could mean class warfare.
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2 comments:
Mine have me well trained ... they get breakfast before I make a pot of coffee. Otherwise, I have to listen to the scolding.
Rooster always has plenty of dry cat food on hand, so it's not like I'm starving the poor misunderstood feline.
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