So. The cat.

Or one of the cats, rather. Penny gets a little neglected on the blog, I suppose, but I'm afraid that's just going to have to continue for a while longer because today we have to talk about Max.

By the way, today's pointless photo really should have a soundtrack. It goes something like this: aaaaaaaaoooooooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuwww...

Max and I have had some issues this weekend. You see, Max is a pretty affectionate cat. A very affectionate cat. A really very affectionate cat. A very, very affectionate cat.

Max is a pain in the ass.

At times. To be fair, sometimes it's appreciated. Often, in fact. Just not in the middle of the night.

Let me explain. In the past couple of months or so Max has decided that it's my job in the morning (EARLY morning) to rub his belly. He'll show up on the bed, peer into my face until there's no possibility of ignoring it (most cat owners should know what I mean there. Cats can be very tenacious about the whole staring thing) and then insist upon being... serviced. Yeah, serviced sounds about right. Oh, I know it's all nice and cuddly and all of that, but in the end I'm servicing the cat. That's what it comes down to.

You may have noticed that I've been whinging about headaches for the past couple of days? Well, on Friday night I went to bed early and, since my father didn't (go to bed early, that is), I closed my door to block out the noise. Erm, not that the father figure was being especially noisy. I'm just a bit noise-sensitive, that's all. Anyway, the door was closed. Big mistake. Max, you see, doesn't like the door being closed because that means he can't do his usual ping pong act of bouncing from my father's room to mine. So, on a night when I was desperately trying to get some sleep in the hope of actually making my head work the next day, I instead got to listen to the sound of cat paws periodically being inserted under the door and claws scratching away to let me know that the Cat. Wants. In.

Have I mentioned that Max is a pain in the ass?

When I finally opened the door the next morning (I had to. It was the prelude to going to the bathroom. Um, yeah. You needed to know that), the cat was in the room almost before I had a chance to turn the doorknob. Looking at me all innocent and confused and wondering why he hadn't been able to get in all night, of course.

Whomever help me if he ever figures out how to open doors on his own.

And last night? Well, the door was open so the cat was happy. Yay?

I guess.





There's more than one reason that I don't have children, you know.

Ah well. You know I'd miss him being a pain in the ass if he wasn't a pain in the ass.






I don't suppose we could give it a try for a little while, though?...