jeudi, août 13, 2009

Bathtub hijinks

I'm not big on labels. People who self-identify as vegetarians, or evangelical Christians, or football fans can have all kinds of reasons for their choice that might make no sense to you or to me.

And I'm even more averse, although I'm sure I sometimes do so, to pinning a label on someone else.

But I have to wonder about people who own cats -- or dogs -- and don't want to own the other species. Its not better or worse to be a "cat person" or a "dog person" -- but it may say something about your personality.

Given that raising two children is emotionally taxing at times, I really didn't want huge wet tongues and wagging tails telegraphing constant need for reassurance that yes, indeed we do love them.

There's also the matter of wet dog fur, and dog smell. To be fair, there is cat fur, and cat litterboxes.

But I didn't bargain for one gentle feline who insists, simply through assuming that position again and again, that her rightful perch is our dining room table. Lots of people would object to the notion that a cat has sat close to their dinner plate.

Or her opponent, an assertive male notorious for climbing screen doors, who waits until an unsuspecting human is putting shampoo on her or his hair before he puts his head in the shower and licks water off their legs.

And the worst thing is, he expects to be dried off.

He doesn't have us perfectly trained yet -- but he's working on it. When I got up this morning and realized Inky wasn't here, I was distressed. Even more so to realize he'd gotten by me when Iopened the kitchen door last night. Where was the noise of objects being pushed, one by one, off my desk?

Happily, when I went out outside, he rematerialized, as though nothing unusual had ocurred. Time for breakfast, stepmom!

Cats don't beg. They have standards. I'm not sure which is better.

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