Wednesday
My friend Kelly had to bring her cat over this past week so that she could flea bomb the inside of her apartment in preparation for her weekend guests. Apparently she discovered the little critters just a few days before their arrival, and in typical Kelly fashion she scurried around in a sweaty mess of hysteria and urgency in finding the flea spray and arranging a good time to do the deed.
We settled on an evening and she arrived with her cat, Cowboy, in his carrier. Kelly felt Cowboy would be more settled and feel more secure in my bathroom. We introduced him to Elliot whose only experience with cats is with the neighbor a few streets over. He owns three collies and several cats who play with the collies as if they were dogs. These cats just play right along with Elliot, and except for the different butt scent they must put out, Elliot is convinced they are dogs. Cowboy, however, being more like his owner in the intelligence area wanted nothing to do with a mangy, barking hound. He looked down at Elliot who was sitting nicely behind the gate and hissed a "don't mess with me buddy or I'll scratch out your eyes" kind of hiss.
Into the bathroom went Cowboy. Eventually the time on the bomb expired and Kelly and I headed over to her place to open windows to air out the apartment. Before we left I suggested we put up a notice on the bathroom door.
Me: "If we don't do that then Tom will come home, walk past the door and immediately open it while wondering aloud why the door is closed."
So I made this sign and tacked it on to the bathroom door.
We settled on an evening and she arrived with her cat, Cowboy, in his carrier. Kelly felt Cowboy would be more settled and feel more secure in my bathroom. We introduced him to Elliot whose only experience with cats is with the neighbor a few streets over. He owns three collies and several cats who play with the collies as if they were dogs. These cats just play right along with Elliot, and except for the different butt scent they must put out, Elliot is convinced they are dogs. Cowboy, however, being more like his owner in the intelligence area wanted nothing to do with a mangy, barking hound. He looked down at Elliot who was sitting nicely behind the gate and hissed a "don't mess with me buddy or I'll scratch out your eyes" kind of hiss.
Into the bathroom went Cowboy. Eventually the time on the bomb expired and Kelly and I headed over to her place to open windows to air out the apartment. Before we left I suggested we put up a notice on the bathroom door.
Me: "If we don't do that then Tom will come home, walk past the door and immediately open it while wondering aloud why the door is closed."
So I made this sign and tacked it on to the bathroom door.
And then I said: "This, of course, isn't going to do any good. Tom will come home, see the note, wonder aloud what cat, and open the door.When we returned from airing out the apartment we found this:
Actually we found the door opened and Tom standing in front of it peering inside, but I didn't grab the camera quickly enough to document that so the above picture had to be recreated.
Moral of the story: Do I know my husband or what?
Moral of the story: Do I know my husband or what?
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