… than to argue with a cat. My friend’s cat was outside and she asked me to bring him in, which I did, pulling the reluctant animal into the house so he didn’t freeze to death. Nepeta, being Nepeta, immediately jumped up on his stand to look at his food dish. It was empty. I tried to fill it for him, but he wasn’t going to have anything to do with me. He voiced his displeasure with me tooth and nail and I have the battle scars to prove it.
You’d think I’d have learned from Prince, all those years ago. He wanted in my house and I said no. When I went to console the poor kitty, he took eight chunks out of me, four on the top of my hand, four on the palm.
Am I upset? Not really. A bit miffed that he wasn’t going to forget the humiliation of being dragged into the house in exchange for a full food dish, but hey, I’ve got to learn some time, right? Oh, I’m fine. A bit bruised and still bleeding a bit when I move my hand the wrong way, but I’ll l ive. I’m too stubborn to roll over and die — but that cat might, if he bites me again. 😉