Being an equal opportunity love sponge, it's only fair that I share some mom loves. Mom and dad give me different voices, have various ways & methods of showering me with attention, and snuggle with me in their own unique ways, but in the end, it's all the same. They just damn adore me. Period. Here, I'm getting scritches while chilling in a big empty box (funny story on that in the next post).
This last one pretty much sums it up.
So, routines are a thing with us felines, and I’ve certainly developed enough of my own. I know we’ve posted about this topic more than once already, so bear with me here. Dad said, “We’ve done this already, Smudge”. Like he has any say. “You don’t want to bore them to death.”
I said, “Listen, mister, this is my blog, and I’ll post whatever I want.” I turned away from him as I often do with him and mom.
“But you couldn’t do this without me,” dad whined. “You need my help even logging into Blogger.”
“Fair point, I guess, but you’d be surprised to discover what we cats can learn.” I turned and headed for my food dish to let him know this conversation was over.
Dad snorted at this, dribbling his coffee onto his bare chest (unnecessary detail, sure, but it’s been hot lately and, well, anyway) and began snickering like a lunatic. “Yeah, right. You know you can’t do this by yourself, Miss Snotty Pants. Cats aren’t that smart.”
Ooooh, the gloves are off now.
“Don’t even get me going on who’s got more brains here, father!” He knows I mean business when that one comes out. “Who’s the one who can’t keep a checkbook? Who’s the idiot who forgets things all the time? Who needs mom to write everything down for him? Hmm? Checkmate.”
Where was I? Oh yeah, my routines. So every morning, before he even pours his first coffee, before he has his first pee (I know, I know, more unnecessary details), I get what mom and dad call giving me loves. I guess simply “petting the cat” is no longer fashionable.
I’m bored now. And the big guy has to get ready for work. So, yeah, routines. I’ll let my expression in this last one say it all. Smudge out.
Well, the Jamies' 1958 single may celebrate the end of the school year and swimming, dancing, and, ugghh, romancing, but this is MY idea of what summertime means.
