When I leave my apartment for any great length of time, I shut the windows nearly all the way. I shut them far enough that the cats can look out through the screens and sniff, but so they are not open far enough so that they can jump up on the screens (and fall outside).
This morning, as I was preparing to head off to Ye Olde Salte Mine, George was in the bedroom window. He jumped down as I went to partially close the window and left the bedroom, whining on the way out, for he was not happy in the least.
As I left for work and walked through the living room, I smelled the odor of a fresh dump. I looked around and on the floor of the living room, in front of the couch, right in front of the place where I normally sit, was a steaming pile of cat shit. George, being no idiot, was hiding somewhere.
Message received loud and clear, you little shitcake.
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5 comments:
LMAO! The little bastards do have a method of communication that leaves no room for debate, don't they?
I can't keep either one of my varmints inside anymore, I open the door and get trampled as they come flying out.
Baby girl has shed one third of her body size in the last week, outside.
Please forgive me for laughing....but rest assured when we had cats, they had the same message delivery system from time to time. Shitcakes, indeed.
I'm particularly fond of the way cats practise escalatio.
They take a dump in front of your chair.
You rub their nose in it.
So they take a dump on your favourite chair.
You rub their nose in it.
So they take a dump in your shoes
You try to rub their nose in it, lose a pint of blood and Gh0d help you the next time you put on your headphones because in the names of Chaos and Mercy there will be fresh, warm catshit in them to go with the Pink Floyd.
Cat owners do not train their cats. Cats train their putative owners.
I knew long ago that I am the pet and my cats are the masters!
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