I’m a little bit fed up with the cat these days because she has been getting under our skin — literally.
In the past, she would crawl into bed in the mornings with Mrs. Doud and snuggle up. Now, when she crawls in bed, she claws Mrs. Doud in the head. I can tell you, that does not make Mrs. Doud happy. “Get that dang cat out of here,” she yelled as I was headed out the door to work. (Actually, she didn’t say “dang.” It was another word, one of those we try not to use in the newspaper.)
Then, the other night, I was sitting at the dinner table, enjoying my soup, when the cat clawed me in the thigh, through my good pants. As you might imagine, that made me as mad as being clawed in the head makes Mrs. Doud. I jumped up and roared at the cat. “Get out of here, you bad cat,” I said as I threw open the back door and pointed outside. (Actually, I didn’t actually say “bad cat.” I used a phrase we definitely don’t use in newspapers.”
I think her bad attitude may have commenced when I decided to put her on a diet. I did this after taking her to the vet for her annual checkup and hearing the vet say, “She’s a healthy cat, but she certainly is fat. How much do you feed her?”
The answer to that question isn’t easy. I feed her sometimes, and so does Mrs. Doud. Between the two of us, the cat puts away a lot of kibble. So, I decided to cut back on the feed.
The cat isn’t used to not being fed when she meows and rubs me on the leg. So she has tried clawing, I would imagine, to punctuate her demands.
I am not sure what is worse — having a fat cat or having puncture marks on my leg and on Mrs. Doud’s head.
I probably should get tough and insist the cat eat less, and do my best to dodge her claws and keep her away from Mrs. Doud. But that would require a toughness I don’t possess. I would imagine the cat is going to get a lot fatter.