Action:
Try to pet Murray when the moon is in the wrong phase, or the wind is blowing the wrong way, or whateverthehell.
Reaction:
Death grapple, followed by vicious kicking with hindclaws if you don't get away fast enough.
Action:
Walk past Murray.
Reaction:
Leap from reclining position and chase you around the house.
Action:
Clean Murray's litter box.
Reaction:
Flee in terror; come back and sniff around all freaky like; stare at you like you're strangling a puppy; swipe at your legs as you go to take the trash out; pee and/or, ideally, generate a huge smelly poo as soon as box is returned to its former position.
Action:
Sneak up on Murray while he's eating, pull on the scruff of his neck, stick a needle into him and inject refrigerated insulin into his subcutaneous fat layer.
Reaction:
None.
Go figure!
Posted by hilatron at January 26, 2006 12:44 PM | TrackBackYAY!!!!
Posted by: j at January 26, 2006 01:07 PMYup. Sounds like every cat I've ever known from the reaction to the shot to the christening of the clean litter box. Nothing wrong with THAT boy!! And what a relief, huh??
Posted by: Auntie Jean at January 26, 2006 08:23 PMI am sorry to be the one to break this to you, but your cat has a personality disorder.
He's a genuine sado-masochist. Love Equals Pain. It's going to be an interesting little life from here on out, methinks.
Good luck with that.
Posted by: Doombot at January 30, 2006 08:35 PM