One of the great things about having pets is the various things they do that make you laugh. Dogs are good for a few laughs, but cats? Now cats are a laugh a minute. For no other reason than when they mess up, they try to act like “that just did not happen, you saw nothing, in fact pics or it DIDN’T happen”. Cats have certainly cornered the market in arrogance. Much like my 18 year old daughter.
I might have mentioned this before, but my wife collects things. Mostly cats. Live ones. I’m convinced that she purchased a cat caller that was built by the US Military on eBay and is using it every morning, because every time I turn around there is a new cat at our house. Seriously people, I can’t keep up with all the names. I usually try to ignore them, but when they pester me, I usually degenerate into calling them names like “you!” or “Dumb Cat”, or the really inventive “Fur-Ball!” Now, my cat name memory may be faulty, but it just might have something to do with the fact that my wife insists on adding the word butt to the end of every cats name. She not only has a fascination with cats, but apparently their furry butts as well. But we won’t get into that right now.
The trouble with having so many cats that come in from time to time is that, like any arrogant animal, it will insist in getting all up in the middle of everything you are doing. Like cooking. And eating. Shooing them away doesn’t work. Spraying them with the water hose on the sink works well, at least so I hear. I admit to nothing because my wife will surely read this post.
It’s a pretty common occurrence to hear her in the kitchen cooking, where she obviously belongs by the way (man Imma pay for THAT comment let me tell you) and hear her raising her voice at the cats who insist on whatever food she is cooking they have a right to and climb all over the counter when she is trying to get ready to cook. Me? I just slap… I mean gently pick them up and put them on the floor.
Well, the other night we were watching TV and just so happened to be eating in front of it while our daughter was out. The cats, knowing better than to come my way, were all over the couch, surrounding my wife and quite obviously acting like the Mob and saying “hand over the food and no one gets hurt”. After hearing her say “No (insert cats name) butt, NO!) about 1000 times, I got rather annoyed. After all, I was trying to watch TV.
About this time, what I thought to be a rather brilliant idea hit me and at once acted on it. It is a variation of the Pokemon training for those in the know. I stood up, stomping my feat in the “all felines prepare to be killed by Godzilla” dance. It went something like this:
A group of wild hungry cats appear!
I use Cat Dance!
It’s supper effective!
Problem was, it was a little to effective. Next thing I know, cats are literally flying all over the place from my frightful Godzilla impression. They were in the kitchen. They were in the hall. Both have slick floors. Things were getting knocked over left and right. The sound? Like a group of angry teen girls having their makeup taken away. And their cell phones.
I, of course, laughed and said “Oh my God did you see that?” as I turned to look at my beautiful wife, only to find she had been replaced by an evil demon. Being the smart man I am, I ran for cover, under the kitchen table, where I stayed for 3 hours while she picked up the pieces.
So although I made mommy kitty annoyed with me, my PokeCat Training exercise was a total success. Now, every time I walk in a room where they are, they go running, only to repeat the whole sliding and scrambling thing all over again.
So, here is to me, who could give all those Pokemon trainers lessons, provided mommy kitty wifey poo doesn’t kill me first.