Every morning, as I slowly slide open the glass closet door, I stare down into the unblinking eyes of Furry Terror (cat II), as he contemplates... To do or not to do. And every morning, he comes to the same conclusion, his furry little body darting past me to hide under the white shelf below my hanging skirts and pants... Definitely and absolutely to do.
And so, every morning, I reach for the spray bottle and attempt to imitate machine gun rounds with water for about ten seconds before he concedes defeat and hurriedly departs the field of battle.
Dumb cat never learns.
But at least he has an excuse. He's just a baby cat.
What excuse do people have?
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