The boys have split personalities. During the day they're keepin' it gangsta. They slouch around the house like bad boys, knocking things off shelves and ledges and snickering at the damage that ensues. Eek Eek, I knocked something else over today - I'm the badest cat in this house. Last night, the victim was the wooden pear on the fireplace mantel - clunk! It bounced on the floor sending me into the darkened living room to see whether burglars were breaking in. I turned the lights on and the fur faces sneered at me - ya, we just knocked something down, wanna make something out of it? This street attitude is especially comical when you consider their other persona - hopelessly desperate for affection (I told them affection has two f's especially when you're dealing with me). When the brothers are in this phase, they will lie on my lap in a boneless state to have their stomachs scratched. My biggest problem then is patting 2 cats with one hand - the other hand is holding a beer bottle.
This state of relaxation doesn't last long though, they get their lovin' and move on. Got some gangsta moves to try out. And an image to keep up - suppose some rival cats were to spy us through the window - we need to preserve our street cred, they think. Street cred? Ha. The boys are scared to step out on the front porch, let alone the street. Wimps. xxx dad
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