I enter the house singing. "What's new pussycats whoa oh whoa oh whoa!" And the boys don't seem to be at all irritated by my
Tom Jones .Rooney rolls around on the mat by my feet and Rufus rubs up against my snow filled pant cuffs. The Big Cat is home!
All is right with the world. Who cares if he mocks us with his singing? We will soon be gorging ourselves on delicious tuna pate with gravy. This sounds awful but the boys love it. They are freaks for soft food from a can and the soft-hearted leader is giving it to them more often .It makes them happy so why not? The forecasted weight gain by the kindly vet has not occurred. The boys stay lean and muscular with their incessant high speed chases. With the odd break for when one fur-face gets trapped in a room behind a closed door. Not surprisingly, the trapped one is always Rooney. He runs upstairs goes in a bedroom and leans on the door 'til it closes. Then he can't get out. Rufus must stand outside and mew for help from the Big Cat to free his clueless brother.
So far Rooney has succeeded in trapping himself in the office, my bedroom and the upstairs bathroom. Maybe this is a clever way the boys can exercise their leader by making him climb stairs. Stop watching "The Policewomen of Houston" and start climbing Big Cat! Good thinking, lads. I'll give you soft food as your reward! xxx dad
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