At about 3:00 AM, Reynaldo decided it was time for me to wake up. He began knocking everything off the dresser and so I locked him and his makeshift litterbox out into the hall.This morning I opened the bedroom door to find litter all over the hall. OK, so he buried a bit over enthusiastically. He's a cat. Allowances must be made.
Then I saw how he knocked all the picture frames off the bookshelf. Fine. He was bored.
And found the cereal boxes on the kitchen floor. GRRR!
AND A BIG HOLE IN THE WALL, caused by him pulling down the drapes.
He turned 8 in April. This is not kitten behavior. This is Reynaldo.
He is eating my hairbrush as I write this.
Remember that scene in The Miracle Worker where Annie tries to teach Helen table manners and the dining room is destroyed in the process? I feel like Rey and I are starring in our own low-rate dinner theater production.
Oh, well. He is in my life to teach me patience. He is my responsibility and I would never give him back or give him away. I must figure out how we can live together peacefully for the remainder of our lives.
And who I will leave his care to in my will, as obviously he will be the death of me.
