You can see in the picture Baby Girl has adopted a certain disdain for me…fewer loving looks, a couple of actual growls when I try to comb her….she hasn’t started doing anything too terrible like peeing in a secret place, but still. And now, she demands to be called Baby GaGa…simply refuses to answer to anything else. Sing it with me now to the tune of Lady GaGa’s song….fu-fu-fu-furry face, fu-fu-furry face….underneath all that fur…nothing but ice.
What has happened? I believe she knows about Spencer, my daughter’s new rescue kitty…he’s so cute, so lovey, so well-behaved…could she have heard me talking about him? I know she suspects something…perhaps she has smelled him on me when I come home. The smell of a strange perfume, kitty lipstick on the collar…I’m quite sure she is suspicious, and has grown quite cold.
I’ve suggested kitty yoga to her….other cats swear by it and say it has helped them find their equilibrium in troubled times, but so far she won’t even try a downward dog, much less merudandasana! Actually I have trouble with that one too. What will placate baby? Perhaps some of that expensive cat food Spencer gets from his indulgent owner….you know, the 89 cents a tiny can stuff. I’ll get some today, and tell Baby, sorry, Baby GaGa…that she’s the only cat for me, that my time with Spencer meant nothing to me, please forgive me my dalliance. I’ll let you know if it works.