Nine Lives

I’ve had a belly full of George W. The nasty cat washes his paws (only two of them, he’s not too bright), in our water bowl every day. Kindness and reverse psychology haven’t worked with him. Please George W, I beg of you, wash your paws in the potty. He tells me he can’t, as Mom closes the bathroom door because he destroys bath tissue. Plus, meow, she keeps the potty lid down. All. The. Time. 

George, let’s try a different approach...you are going to want to drink out of that water bowl sooner or later. How does the thought of drinking cat litter make you feel? 

He stared at me with those beautiful aqua eyes as he dipped his paw in the water again. He didn’t even meow, he just stared. 

Okay, George, I’ve tried the nice way, I’ve been gentle and kind. Now the snow boots are coming off. I’m going to eat all your cat food. I will lock the door the next time you slink outside. You can stay out in the snow until the cows come home, or until the elk come down the mountain. As a last resort, I may have to call in a favor from one of my street smart friends. He said he would help me out, take one of your nine lives. George W I’m not taking any more of your nonsense. He hopped up on the kitchen counter, grabbed an avocado and threw it at me. He really did. Mom found it on the floor when she came home from work. He taunted me one last time before he took his overweight hiney to the sofa for a nap.

Maggie Rose, he tells me, you will find a mouse in your water bowl if you continue to badger me. I shivered. Disgusting cat. Who does he think he is, mafia cat? George Corleone? 

Woeful in Wyoming,

Maggie Rose the Schnauzer 🐾