Gawd. Here we go again, he says.
That girl is doing that thing with the Starbucks cup again, he thinks to himself…
Why can’t she just use a ruler like a normal person, he contemplates.
As if the 22+ inches of snow we just got 10 minutes ago four days ago wasn’t enough, the next round has begun.
and continues…on and on and on. You know the story.
So George, he’s had to use a little box for more than a week now.
I can tell that it makes him feel all itchy and uncomfortable. Like he wants to just come out of his skin. He is just not cut out to be an indoor “litter box” cat. He’s a good ‘ol Country boy. He’d wear overalls if he could.
We have tried every approach.
George is simply incorrigible.
Oh, George. Really. Just try smiling. Just a little. For me.
He pretends not to speak English. He ain’t fooling nobody.
I even tidied up and refreshed his litter box this evening as I watched the first few inches of snow falling, and he promptly stepped right in and took himself a big poo.
That’ll show her, he snickers to himself.
Then he sprinted here and dashed there, and acted a little like he was getting ready to go all ‘Britney Spears” on us, but my man says he had simply taken a good dump. The cat. Not the man. Sometimes clarification is the best policy.
However, it has occurred to me that perhaps I should be the one sleeping with one eye open until our little slice of Antarctica melts away. Sometime this Spring.
The Starbucks cup and I will be back in the morning.
Tweet
//
{ 4 trackbacks }
{ 0 comments… add one now }