My Cat Butch
It hadn’t exactly gone unnoticed that week that
Joe and I were spending more of our free time down by the sailing and Oceanographic centers. You’d have thought they’d have known something was up, as we’d pretty much aced nautical knots during hell week. Still, they were pleased we were at least trying to improve ourselves.
We’d quickly come to the conclusion that our options regarding Butch were fast running
out. Maybe he didn’t want to be a pampered pet. Maybe he’d been so
mistreated and ignored that he’d never learn to trust anyone. Perhaps we should have just let him go.
But, armed with some purloined liver from the kitchens, I decided to try a little blackmail. My plan? If I could catch
him in the act, I could put him in the litter box then reward him with the meat. I had no doubt he’d get the idea, if
not, well, that would be another story.
The cat fairies must have taken pity on me, and Joe nearly had a heart attack when he
gingerly opened the door. I had to assure him that Butch and I had come to an understanding and that we wouldn’t be
releasing him into the wild or taking him to the shelter quite yet, even if he was kneading
his paws (and claws) on my belly as I sat on the floor, leaning against the wall as he dominated his human patsy.
I knew one thing. I’d better bring more liver tomorrow.