Thursday, July 10, 2008
Parker loves playing with my cat...
A constant point of contention for Parker and I has been Aristotle, the cat.
Um, a word about this cat of mine. I never wanted a cat. I hate animals. Aristotle was a gift, a read, from my ex- Tim.
Aristotle fits his name. He's a slight snide.
He glides around the house like he owns it.
He is prone to bursts of cuteness when he wants something (food that I am eating, usually) and he is able to give face on the drop of a dime.
But oh, cats, by nature, can be quite fickle and persnickety. Whenever I feel and urge towards kindness and go to pet this pussy, he runs. Whenever I am lounging, with no inclination towards stroking my pussy, he jumps on me and purrs for affection. I tired of his emotional rollercoaster years ago (it's been three years if you want to know).
Parker, however, adores this cat. He talks to him, pets him, and even puts the cat in the bed (my side of the bed, if you must know). It infuriates me. Now, Aristotle basically lives in Parker's lap. Disgusting.
I, however, have a little plan for Ms. Aristotle. Since he is so enamored with Parker, why not let Parker feed him or empty his litter box. Hmmph. Let's see Parker show some monetary affection towards this finicky feline. Ms. Aristotle will make it a month, at best, before he's crawling around the house looking quite Aushwitzy (no shade, holocaust survivors. Some of my best friends are jewish…)