Wednesday, 11 April 2012
My cat just stalked past me, only pausing at the door to give as powerful a glower as she could muster. Her pride's probably still smarting from the fact I tricked her earlier when the vet came to give her injections.
Oh, does that mean stroking? Really? You'll stroke me? Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease-
I would like to point out for the unobservant that Milly has no dignity. To continue.
- ohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease - YES! Thank you, human. Thank you. I'll just settle on your lap now, shall I? So you can reach behind my ears properly. Yes, right th- Whoa. Why are you holding me firmly? No. I don't like that. Who's that woman? She's wearing GLOVES. I don't trust people with gloves. That's why I chewed and digested the pair you bought in November. Remember? OUCH! Is nothing sacred to you, you witless ape? Get away from me! You'll rue the day you tricked this feline - oooh, yeeesssss... I'll never forget this injustice. NEVER!
Cat-owners, you will know this reaction. You will know the indignant yowl that your cat emits about ten seconds after the needle has already left her skin. You will know the murderous Glower, and the Plotting Expression in your pet's eyes as they survey you in the hours after the Incident, merely waiting until you relax your vigilance before they pounce.
So, as a Target and soon-to-be Victim I should probably be on the run right now, finding a good-looking bloke who happens to be an ex-agent to protect me and investing in those apparently necessary appearance changes.
The thing is, I'm pretty skint, I can't be bothered to spend out on sunglasses and I happen to like my hair as it is, thankyouverymuch. (I'm also irrevocably in love with my shower.) So no, Action Genre, you cannot give me the answer that I need right now.
Because, we cat-owners also know that nothing makes a cat turn from a potential killing machine to a grown-up kitten like an innocent ball of kitchen paper. Which also happens to be very cheap.