So, let’s just get something straight you two: YOU’RE PORCH CATS!!!
By definition, that means you live on my porch. That means I have ceded a little bit of my territory – my land, my homestead, the property that I pay a mortgage on every month – to your furry little behinds. Out of the goodness of my heart. As repayment to my wonderful neighbor down the street, who we lost last year. Your previous owner. A terrific woman. And because of that, we let you migrate down the block and take up residence here, on our porch.
But here’s what I’m trying to explain to you … it comes with responsibilities! Certain guidelines. You don’t just get to live here rent free. (Well, that’s not exactly true … you ARE living here “rent free.” In fact, I’m losing money on the deal! Which brings me back to my point …) You two might be pleasant, enjoyable and awfully sweet, but you need to accept a couple of rules that I’m laying down.
For starters, throwing up on the porch – your home!!! – is strictly forbidden. I mean, this should go without saying. Why would you even do that?!? There is a whole huge yard out there where you can do frankly whatever you want. Why do it here? Where people walk! Because, here’s the thing: We don’t always look where we are stepping. Especially when it’s early morning. A little dark out. And I just want to get the newspaper. See where I’m going with this? You think that’s a pleasant morning greeting?
Don’t be so picky about your food. Let me re-state that: Don’t be so picky about MY food. The food I buy and generously provide. Not so much, you Sunburst. You would eat a bowl full of mashed crickets, scraggly little bugger that you are. But you, Teagrass. These hunger strikes you go on if I don’t get the Whiskas in the pouches and pour the gravy just right over the top of the dry food in some kind of pattern like a coffee barista making a fancy cappuccino. Oh, no, sister! You eat what I put out there.
Also … NO CAPPUCCINOS!
For another thing, when I’m coming up the porch loaded down with groceries … MOVE!!! I mean, is this some kind of ploy to trip me so the other one can make off with the ground beef? This stuff is heavy. Don’t just lounge there like I need to go around. Like you’re some kind of traffic cone that needs to be avoided.
Don’t put your claws on the screen door when you want to eat. Teagrass, you got your claws stuck in there last time and I had to come pull you free.
When I’m backing out the car, don’t use that as your opportunity to strut to the end of the driveway and start grooming yourself there. You could go anywhere you want, but the minute I start to backup, you go there! Does that seem like a good career move to you? More like a good way to end up a pancake. And then when you do move, I would appreciate if you didn’t stare at me like I have some nerve disturbing you. Like I’m the biggest jerk in the world. Like to get back at me you’re probably going to go throw up a hairball on MY porch. I mean, you sleep there, for goodness sake!