The Kitteh's Revenge

Hello, Kitties!

In a radical departure from our usual practice, I am going to allow The Human to tell you a story as part of our friend Mr. Puddy's "Don't Mess with Your Kitty" collection. After the story, I *may* have a comment or two.

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On New Year's Day, 1990, only a few weeks after BooBoo crossed the Bridge at 19, Mr. Teeth turned up as a stray at my best friend's house in the South Bay where I was spending the holidays. They already had five cats, and I was momentarily catless, so it seemed natural that Mr. Teeth should fill the gaping hole in my life left when BooBoo departed. He was the Sweetest Boy Ever, a big, soft, gray bundle of love, about 10 months old.

Because he was so gentle and compliant, and because he always tried to dash out the front door, I decided he might be the perfect candidate for a leash. He took to it like a duck to water, and we began to take daily strolls around the neighborhood. (I met more neighbors than I had in the previous ten years, as he was apt to drop to the sidewalk, expose his belly and BEG for affection from any passerby).

I mean, just LOOK at him:

It all sounds idyllic--right?  Well, yes & no. I began to realize I was unknowingly creating a Monster. He took to standing by the front door, meowing loudly and insistently for his "walkies," even moments after we returned from the previous walk! He possessed a LOUD and DEEP voice and seldom tired of using it.

One day, I was, ahem, "doing my business" in the human litter box room, clothing puddled at my feet. The door was open, only feet from where Mr. Teeth stood, raging at the front door. My lack of response must have tipped him right over the edge, as he meandered into the bathroom, cocked his head at me, turned his back, wiggled his furry butt--and PEED on me: my ankles, my shoes and my clothing. Satisfied, he strolled out of the room and took up his station at the front door.

By the time I gathered my clothing and my wits, he had given up and was settling in for a nice snooze with his little sidekick, Clarkie. I spoke rather sternly to him, which did not prevent future wailing at the front door, though he never repeated that other particular offense. Perhaps he felt he'd made his point. . . or maybe I just remembered to close the bathroom door!

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So, Kitties, that's our story for today and purrsunally I think it's a darn good one. I haven't done this yet myself, but it's an idea I can add to my repertoire when the time seems right. Heh heh!