Wednesday, January 07, 2015
He's smart. We must grant him that!
Yet he is compelled to do it. It's the devil in him.
He could chase after or wrestle with one of the other cats. He could remove a catnip toy from the big box under the window. But no. He simply must knock over the cup of pens or the basket of bills on the dining room table.
He knows what will come next. I will yell at him, catch him by the scruff of the neck, and toss him in the bedroom.
Which is why Tuesday evening, after knocking shit off the dining room table, he ran into the bedroom and hid under the bed, all on his own.
So he's learned to self exile.