Captain Carl says he hates my cat, Max. He says he hates her because she peed on our living room carpet so much that we had to rip it out and replace it with laminate so she wouldn't do it again. He says he hates her because she yowls for her brother, Boo, in the middle of the night. He says he hates her because she likes to be thumped instead of petted (is that a word?) and then when you thump too long she bites you. He says he hates her because whenever we talk to each other, Max tries to get in between us like a jealous child. He says he hates her because she won't cover her poop up in the litter box. He says he hates her because sometimes she'll drag that poop out of the litter box in an apparent silent protest of whatever she's pissed off about that day.
But I'm on to him.
Oh yes I am.
I'm on to him because I see him stop vacuuming (yes he vacuums...jealous much?) when Max is freaking out about the loud noise. I'm on to him because I hear him talk baby talk to her when he thinks no one is listening. I'm on to him because when he grabs a blanket to sit under on the couch, he leaves a bit of it on the couch next to him so Max can sit on it and then lets her snuggle up against him. I'm on to him because he makes sure she has plenty of food on the nights I forget to feed them.
So listen up, Captain. You don't fool me one little bit with your "Hey Max, wanna take a ride in the dryer?" and "Hey Max, wanna see the inside of the microwave?" and Hey Max, let's go take a walk in the field across the street!" and "Hey Max, want me to teach you how to use the handsaw?". Oh no you don't. Because I just heard you ask the cat you hate so much "Are you cold, old lady?" and then I saw you thump her a couple times and scratch her ears and pull her a little closer to you on the blanket.
Nice try, but I'm on to you.
And so is Max.
Twelve Years, Give or Take.
1 week ago