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Isn't it amazing how the furbabies are able to lay guilt trips on you? Here are just two examples:
Frank does not like me going out in the evening. Yesterday, I went to see a movie with a friend. After the movie, we went to a pub and had one glass (each) of mulled wine to celebrate the season. Then I went home, nice and early. The cats were happy that I was back, and I picked up Frank, who seemed especially love-sick (he's a mama's boy).
He butted his head againsta mine, but when he got a whiff from my mouth, he froze. He gave me an infinitely disgusted glare and struggled out of my arms. Not only had I gone out in the evening, when I'm scheduled to entertain him, I had come home smelling of alcohol. The ultimate offense. Bad, bad mama.
This morning it was Nikki's turn to be love-sick. All morning she weaved around my legs every step I took. Until the inevitable happened; I stepped on her paw. She let out a scream and ran under the bed, and Frank came crashing down from the top of the bookcase to protect her from horrible cruel paw-crunching mama.
Do I feel terrible!
Editor's note:
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