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Walter the Cat Has Officially Been Banished (to the Back Porch) 🐈💩
So tonight I put flea meds on Walter (again), and within sixty seconds — I'm talking less time than it takes to microwave popcorn — he hiked his leg and dropped a protest right on my floor. While staring me dead in the eyes. No shame. No hesitation. Just straight-up eye contact and vengeance.
And it's not like the boy doesn't have options — he SAT in his litterbox all day yesterday like it was a throne, so don't tell me this was about access. This was a message.
He even picked Romeo's vent as ground zero — and if you know Romeo, my Australian Shepherd and king of this castle, you know that vent is sacred ground. He pants constantly, so that spot stays open and uncluttered 24/7 just for him. He lays there, chin down, soaking in the AC, and over time all that drool has literally rusted the vent. That's not neglect, that's a shrine. And now Walter's defiled it.
For some context on Walter: this cat showed up on my porch the same day I got diagnosed with COVID. He crawled out looking like a skeleton with a dislocated hip, and I had absolutely nothing prepared for a cat. My landlady Ellen ended up covering his neuter and chip, even paid extra so he wouldn't get the stray ear notch, and registered him in her name at my address — so technically he's the "property cat." But he chose me. He's been my problem — I mean my baby — ever since.
Well, my neighbor Mel loves him too, and here's the thing: we share a back porch, and technically we're the same address, just different units. So after tonight's crime spree, I've made an executive decision: Walter is hereby SARCASTICALLY BANISHED to Mel's side of the porch. Same address, new management. He's not even moving anywhere, really — just changing ownership from the comfort of the same address he already lives on.
Petition to reclassify "getting flea treatment" as a personal attack, as decided by one extremely dramatic, extremely calculating cat who apparently has choices and wants me to know it.
Shoutout to Romeo for holding down the fort (and his sacred AC spot) like a king through all this, and to my two angelfish for staying blissfully, wisely out of it.
Anyone else's rescue pulling this kind of full-on mob-boss retaliation? Asking for a friend (me, at 1:49 AM, banishing a cat to six feet away and calling it justice).
So tonight I put flea meds on Walter (again), and within sixty seconds — I'm talking less time than it takes to microwave popcorn — he hiked his leg and dropped a protest right on my floor. While staring me dead in the eyes. No shame. No hesitation. Just straight-up eye contact and vengeance.
And it's not like the boy doesn't have options — he SAT in his litterbox all day yesterday like it was a throne, so don't tell me this was about access. This was a message.
He even picked Romeo's vent as ground zero — and if you know Romeo, my Australian Shepherd and king of this castle, you know that vent is sacred ground. He pants constantly, so that spot stays open and uncluttered 24/7 just for him. He lays there, chin down, soaking in the AC, and over time all that drool has literally rusted the vent. That's not neglect, that's a shrine. And now Walter's defiled it.
For some context on Walter: this cat showed up on my porch the same day I got diagnosed with COVID. He crawled out looking like a skeleton with a dislocated hip, and I had absolutely nothing prepared for a cat. My landlady Ellen ended up covering his neuter and chip, even paid extra so he wouldn't get the stray ear notch, and registered him in her name at my address — so technically he's the "property cat." But he chose me. He's been my problem — I mean my baby — ever since.
Well, my neighbor Mel loves him too, and here's the thing: we share a back porch, and technically we're the same address, just different units. So after tonight's crime spree, I've made an executive decision: Walter is hereby SARCASTICALLY BANISHED to Mel's side of the porch. Same address, new management. He's not even moving anywhere, really — just changing ownership from the comfort of the same address he already lives on.
Petition to reclassify "getting flea treatment" as a personal attack, as decided by one extremely dramatic, extremely calculating cat who apparently has choices and wants me to know it.
Shoutout to Romeo for holding down the fort (and his sacred AC spot) like a king through all this, and to my two angelfish for staying blissfully, wisely out of it.
Anyone else's rescue pulling this kind of full-on mob-boss retaliation? Asking for a friend (me, at 1:49 AM, banishing a cat to six feet away and calling it justice).