I was thinking today of the cat quip that one hears every now and then about how “dogs have masters; cats have staff.” Being raised a dog person, and never living with a cat until I got Plum six years ago, I would have thought I’d be immune from becoming the staff/slave of my cats. Sadly, this is not true.
I realized that whereas I really have no compunction against gently shoving Dorothy over when she is being a bed hog or resting her loudly snoring snout right up against my ear, I will basically become a contortionist in the same bed so as not to disturb Posy in her chosen sleeping spot—which is inevitably some inconvenient horizontal location smack in the middle of the mattress.
That's right, bitches!
And when I am preparing food at my one square footage of counter space in my kitchen or washing dishes at the sink, and Plum decides to sit right in front of said counter or sink, I will walk around him or straddle over him or move my food prep to the top of the oven instead of just giving him a shoo! or a kick.
Note how the tail is placed for maximum inconvenience:
I’m beginning to think a cat’s purr is not a purr only, but some kind of evil hypnosis. If I start spending all my money on sweetmeats for my two furry bosses and fill my apartment with cat climbing trees, someone please stage an intervention. Just don’t look directly into my cats’ eyes while doing so.