Or “What my evenings would be like if Athena T. Cat spoke English.”
A.T. Cat’s interest in the little rug around the base of the commode has not faded as I had hoped it would. She now camps out there every evening, after first blocking the path between the bedroom to the office (via the bathroom) in hopes of drive-by petting. Then she marches into the den and assaults my lap, usually about the time I finish what ever I am drinking and need a refill. Cat timing – gotta love it.
Around 2100 local time, she disappears. She has returned to her place of protest, the toilet mat, from whence She Shall Not Be Moved. The conversation goes something like this:
Athena T.C.: Mrow.
Alma: You’re in the way.
Alma: You’re still in the way.
ATC: [rolls partly onto back and tries to look cute]
Alma: You need to move. [brushes teeth and fends of cat who suddenly wants to drink out of the sink]
ATC: Mrah! [jumps down and returns to Toilet Mat]
Alma: [sighs, gets ready for bed, returns in hopes the cat has moved] You have to move.
ATC: Why? I’m comfortable.
Alma: Because I am going to step on you.
ATC: That’s your problem, not mine. It is your fault for wanting to be here. I was here first.
Alma: I am moving you.
ATC: This is my mat! You can’t move me. We shall not be, we shall not be SQUEAK! [cat is picked up and shifted fourteen inches]
Alma: I told you.
ATC: Oh yeah? [marches back and flops down on human’s toes] We shall over—cooome. We shall over—coooome . . .
Alma: I liked it better when you just got into the sink.