Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Cat is Not Woman's Best Friend. Not Anymore.

My cat has defected.

Seduced by tasty treats and a pair of personal door attendants who let him in and out of the house on demand, Beckett has now become my parent's pet.

At first, he was going to stay with mum and dad until Holly House was liveable. It was going to be like sending your kid to summer camp. He would stay a month, maybe two, and then when I came to pick him up there would be a touching reunion scene. I pictured us running toward each other through a feild of daisies to be tearfully reunited.

Then his move into the new domicile was delayed when the neighboring coyotes started to play the big bad wolf version of ding dong ditch.

(Seriously, guys. At first it was funny. Now the howling and screeching directly under my bedroom window at 2AM is just really annoying.)

After my closest neighbor told me his traumatizing mysterious-bloody-trail-of-guts-on-the-back-porch-and-the-wife's-missing-Yorkie horror story, I decided a fence must be installed or Beckett could become a hairy snack for the local pack. They have no problem snatching a pet in broad daylight. With no trees for him to take refuge in, even 17lbs. of pissed off polydactyl tom cat wouldn't stand a chance.

I have yet to come up with the $$$$.00 for the fence, and it might be a while since I decided a functioning kitchen might rank higher in importance than chain link. Beckett's summer camp experience was extended.

I've been visiting him regularly, but it wasn't enough to maintain his affection. Yesterday, he snubbed me. I got the cold shoulder from MY OWN PET. Actually, I got the brown starfish, which is the cat equivalent of the cold shoulder apparently. My mom and I were sitting on the couch (me on one end, her on the other) and Beckett jumped up on the back of the cushions, gave me a scornful glance, stuck his patootie right into my face and proceeded to bump his head against my mom to get her attention.

"He likes me best," she said, scratching under his chin.

Then my father, who has loathed anything in a catsuit his entire life, showed me their "new trick".

Holding a treat in his hand, my father yells at Beckett, "Who's yo' daddy?!"

Beckett puts a paw on my father's leg and says, "Yeeouw."

My father gives him the treat and says, "Dat's right!"

Dear. God.


  1. ahahahaha. Those cats. Can't trust em, but gotta love 'em.

  2. Wow, I totally misread that first sentence... it's getting late and I'm tired, so it did not look like 'defected'... I thought your cat had christened your new home. ;)