A Week With the Owners of My Home

Whiskey and Boris have been up to their usual shenanigans while the human is in the process of making Cat Noir CC a non-profit in an attempt to raise funds to help more black cats get adopted--starting with mine.

The other day I tossed a reusable grocery bag into the reading nook as a reminder to take it to the car. I noticed that Boris appeared to be packing a few things to take on a trip.

There is a nun, a toy pickle, a holy mother that glows in the dark, a bird, a pineapple, a koala bear, a snack holder, and, if you look under the bookshelf there is a match stick that is carved into a mini Elvis Presley (because the cat has to ruin my stuff). I'm not sure where he is going, but he is adding to his stash. Sounds like a fun vacation to me. By the way, all of the items on the bag were either in another room or on the 4th or 5th shelf of the bookcase before Boris moved them.

What wasn't in Boris' getaway bag was his toy butterfly, which he has made abundantly clear is no longer something he wants in the house. In fact, I don't think he even wants me in the house at this point.

The problem it that I planted a butterfly bush in the yard, which basically is a live toy producing machine for Boris. When I saw him take down a butterfly with the greatest of ease, I immediately started to prance about with the string of fake butterflies and was met with this heart-warming look of contempt.

A new rug also made it into the bathroom courtesy of the human's six jobs. Furless has yet to be able to touch the rug because both cats are using it constantly. As if taking over the rug wasn't enough, the boys continue to take the towels off the rack and add a little extra padding to the floor.

The rug already needs to be washed, but Boris has his plans for the floor covering that pretty much negates any future cleaning efforts.

Finally, Whiskey may have set the stage for the demise of Cat Noir CC with his blatant disrespect of the Holy Mother. I strolled by the kitchen window and let out a shriek louder than the first time I felt that ruler smack my knuckles for some long forgotten misdeed born of being a child. Much to my horror, my 22-pound bundle of teeth and claws was pooping in the great Virgin's territory.

I shrunk against the wall willing Whiskey to stop his misplaced biological instinct before the angel Gabriel swooped down to defend the divine from defecation.

My shouts and tears of anguish fell on deaf triangle-shaped, rotating ears. I knew it was too late when his big paws started flinging dirt over the hole he had dug--not unlike someone tossing a handful of dirt on what was surly soon to be my casket.

I hope you all have a fantastic week with your cats, mine have taken over the house, and I am living in the car. Perhaps I should make myself a non-profit.

There is also a new video, Boris the Doorstep, that is only a click away http://bit.ly/29zrLc2

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