I think most of you long time readers of my blog probably have a reasonable idea of who I am. You know I am a pug who will not suffer fools gladly, to paraphrase George Bernard Shaw’s famous, “He was, I believe, not in the least an ill-natured man: very much the opposite, I should say; but he would not suffer fools gladly.” I do think that is a fair assessment of yours truly. I am not one to be challenged, teased, or micromanaged. I can be somewhat standoffish, slightly critical (but usually accurate), and not terribly interested in interacting with my own or other species. And yes, I am a bit of a curmudgeon. So, if you, dear reader, understand my strengths and foibles, then why wouldn’t one incredibly cheeky, inappropriate, and uncontrolled kitten?
This Zoe has been the bane of my existence on Cape Cod. She has taken it into her feline sized brain that I am the object of her attention, that I am a pug with whom to toy, and that she need not observe any of the rules of respectful behavior.
The other night I was enjoying a wonderful post-dinner nap on my grandparents new winter shag area rug in the TV room. I can remember the evening well because I was transported by dreams of such incredible bliss about the object of my affection, when I became aware of a small but annoying paw, persistently patting me. Normally, I either would have moved or swatted it away, but this evening I had no desire to disturb my pleasant reverie. I opened one eye slowly and unobtrusively so that I could discover the source of the annoyance. I watched this creature, Zoe, lying near me, as she slithered closer and closer, using her body in a reptilian way, as only a cat or snake can. I was both repelled and fascinated, curious to see what tactic she would next employ. Her head actually was touching mine and she continued to put forth her paw of mass destruction. She somehow assumed it was okay to keep touching me as she inched closer. At that point something primeval fired in my brain, causing me to lunge at her, using my voice in a most primitive manner, like the pug beast I really am. She looked shocked, disbelieving, and surprisingly, intrigued! She was not chastened or contrite. I still cannot believe her response and it continues to rankle me.
I will never understand cats.