dear phoebe & phaedra...

It’s hard to believe that yesterday you were cute little puffball kittens, and suddenly, I turn around and you’re the size of Thanksgiving turkeys.  It’s even harder to believe that you’ve been in my company and care for 8 years, and we still have to have this kind of “talk”.

Phoebe:  When you circle my office chair, meowing and pawing at my leg, for well over half an hour, and make a couple halfhearted attempts to jump up into the chair, I am naturally going to assume that you want to be in my lap, and I’m going to help haul your 20lb tuchas in that direction.  Spraying me and rendering my office chair unusable for most of the day is NOT the way to thank me for this effort.

Phaedra:  I know darn well that YOU know darn well that I tend to wander around the house during dark hours.  So, please stop sleeping in random locations on the stairs.  I know you’re trying to kill me, but trust me, all I’m going to do if I fall down the stairs is break a few bones at most… and then, dude, you’re on your own with the whole “food” and “clean litterbox” thing.

Phoebe:  We (ok, Woody) just spent $80 on a jungle gym thingy for you to scratch on.  Please use it.

Phaedra: Just a reminder, poop goes IN the litterbox, and your dirty little paws stay OUT of dinner plates.  Thank you.

Both of you:  Picking up knitting needles, needle and thread, or, especially, a tray of beads, is really NOT your cue to climb into my lap.  And by the way, if I remove you from my lap, this doesn’t mean that I want to play the “see how quickly kitty can get back on the lap” or “see how many times kitty will get back on the lap before the human gives up and leaves her there” games.  Truly.

And while we’re at it:  Phaedra, please stop trying to steal Woody’s soul while he sleeps. That really isn’t very nice.

Anyway, I’m glad we could have this talk, even if it really meant the two of you falling asleep on my knitting 30 seconds into this.

Love,
me

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~ by Casey on 17 August 2009.