Softie

Who's the boss around here?  It certainly isn't me.  Cats are notorious for assuming the title of king and queen.  They think they've earned it by being such cute and cuddly kittens in the beginning.  In truth, they are just training us.  As grownups, it is only their due that humans bow to their every wish.  "You have a lap?  We want it."  They have a talent for throwing guilt like confetti.

Michael, the watcher, has seen how Ralph and Celeste have their way all the time, and would like to join the ranks.  After being so good lately, he went walkabout again yesterday.  Did I yell at him as he raced down the driveway?  Most definitely.  Did it do any good?  No.  "You're not the boss of me!"

The culmination of this situation came at bedtime the other night.  Michael jumped up on the bed and chose his spot while I was brushing my teeth.  He left me about six inches on "my" side of a queen-size bed.  (How is it that we are so territorial about bed space?)  "Michael, please move over."  "No."  It was one of the really cold nights.  I tried to oodge into what space he'd left me.  The worst part was that he was lying on top of the covers and I couldn't pull enough over to cover my backside.  Then, just to make sure I was immobile, both cats came to lie on my feet.  They were all warm and comfy.  I was not.  Did I kick the cats off and push Michael over?  Three guesses and the first two don't count.

I am determined to regain the "boss" position in this house.  I just don't know how to do it.  Sigh.