We have a problem with bringing fresh flowers into the house. That problem's name is Wicket. She has a disturbing habit of deciding that, where ever we put those flowers, we clearly intended a cat to be there, because the only purpose that flowers could have would be as a cat snack.
She also feels this way about houseplants.
And leftover Thai food plates.
And water glasses.
So, whenever my lovely wife does something romantic and sweet like finding me fire and ice roses (yes, we have 'our flower,' and I don't care that it makes me a big sissy dork) for Valentine's Day, I get about ten minutes of cooing and burbling about them, and then three days of "WicketgetthefuckoffthediningroomtableIseeyoutheregoddamnit." And when we leave the room, we have to lock the flowers in their own room so we won't come back to shattered glass, electricuted electronics, and one very happy cat with vaguely rose-scented breath.
In fact, she's sitting on the couch staring at them right now.
2 comments:
I just found your blog through FF--and that story is hilarious. This reminds me so much of my cats, and while they don't go after flowers, our older boy cat does have a habit of knocking over breakable objects on the bathroom counter, and he seems to do it on purpose. Ahhh, cats.
oh, wicket has many, many breaking-things fetishes. the most dramatic is her habit of deciding it is kitty breakfast time, standing on my pillow, and slowly, deliberately knocking each and every object off my bedside table--cell phone, glasses, water glass, books...
lately, i wake up in the morning before kate when the cats start jumping on us, walk down the hallway to get the cats to leave the bedroom, turn around and go back to bed, and shut the door behind me. when we were ttc , it was the only way kate could get a good temp, because the #$@#$%@# cats would wake her up before her regular time too often.
welcome, btw!
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