Bartlett, one of my cats, is pissed off with me. Majorly so; and he’s giving me the cold shoulder. I catch him giving me dirty looks sometimes, too. Trust me, he’s very good at letting me know where I stand. Which at this moment in time is very low on his top-ten list of favourites.
I didn’t do anything per se, I swear.
Thing is, when I worked full time he was used to not having me around all the time. But in the six or so years I’ve been freelancing he’s become accustomed to me being home a lot more.
If I was going to be really honest with you, which apparently I am, I’d admit there are some days I don’t go out at all. There are some days I’m so busy writing I don’t ever get out of my jammies; and Bartlett’s just in heaven. Doesn’t leave my side. He drools he’s so happy.
So as you can imagine, he’s become spoiled. He’s gotten used to it now. Mommy is always at home. And he doesn’t like it when his routine is upset.
Truth be told he’s always kept me on a short leash, but this is different.
Last couple of weeks I’ve been particularly busy. A lot of lunches and meetings out of the house. The odd social engagement. I’ve been coming and going a lot. On top of that, it seems like every time I turn around I’ve run out of something. So I’m constantly in and out of the house. I do always let him know I won’t be long but he doesn’t care. He wants me where he can see me.
On those mornings when I leap out of bed and immediately jump in the shower, before I even make breakfast, he knows something’s up and he knows he won’t like it. That’s when he glares at me; and also starts to pout. Pets pout, trust me.
He is very good at making me feel guilty.
Then there are the days I’m distracted, or exhausted or brain dead or all three. I may come home and forget I’m supposed to devote myself entirely to Bartlett and, for that matter, to Sundance, my other cat. Before checking email, voice mail, returning calls, preparing dinner or anything else. House rules are house rules. I’m supposed to ask them how they are, what they’ve been up to in my absence, pet them, tell them how much I’ve missed them, make a fuss over them.
You know. Not unlike a wife greeting her husband when he comes home from work.
Those are, by far, the worst infractions because my furry babies take them very personally. It’s like I’ve insulted them. Like I don’t care enough about them. Like I don’t appreciate them. Like I take them for granted. Like, sniff, I don’t love them any more, sniff, snivel, sniff.
Yes, again like husbands and wives.
To add insult to injury Sundance, the afore-mentioned other cat, with whom Bartlett has always had an on-again-off-again relationship has decided he wants to take over Bartlett’s favourite spot on the couch. The very one Bartlett claimed years ago. To make matters worse, he’s also got the brass to think he can horn in on Bartlett’s territory on my bed, beside me.
It’s very stressful around here. I sure hope we can kiss and make up soon.