I Stood On The Cat

The cat does not like me at the moment.

He sat in the middle of the kitchen and I, walking backwards, stood on his tail.

I leaped, he leaped higher, yowled, and ran away.

I apologised and offered make-up brushing which he accepted without offering forgiveness. I fed him an extra apology portion and the next morning I jumped straight out of bed when he asked to be let out at 6am. Now I always turn around and go forwards in the kitchen, which is closing a barn door after the horse has left, because the cat has more sense than to come into the kitchen while me and my big clod-hoppering tail-squashing feet are in there.

What a cat looks like when it's not being used as a kitchen mat.

 

The cat came to sit on my lap this afternoon which I took as a tentative offering of peace and rebuilt trust. Then again, it could just have been because I had the cat mat on my lap and Roger, who is the preferred cat roost, was not around.

It troubles me deeply to be given the cold shoulder by a cat. I will work hard to inveigle myself into his affections.  I will send Roger to spend time with Google Gladys, who has moved into a box in the kitchen and with whom he has long conversations about volume and how many ways one can interpret "ABC Adelaide," and I will devote all my energies to cat blandishment.

I am on a mission. Whether the Wine cat likes it or not, he and I will be friends.

He's just a little wary...