Most mornings my routine is filled with feeding kitties, petting my dogs, getting dressed, and praying my coffee kicks in for everyone else around me. That’s the real reason I drink coffee you see. It’s not because I like the stuff, it’s for you guys. Okay, that’s a complete lie. I love coffee. All different kinds of the caffeinated goodness that has been in my life since college.
But coffee is not the reason I’m posting today. Lately, I have a battle with my male cat, Oliver, who wants to go in the closet. I mean to the point I shut the closet doors yesterday morning and I could hear him curling up on the comforter, because it’s still in the dry cleaning bag, and ultimately felt guilty because I shut him in the closet. This then turns into me trying to coax him, without treats, out of the closet and scooping him up the moment he goes near my shoe organizer. That’s what I consider my win.
This morning was slightly different though. He came into the room, did not bother to jump on the bed at first and I saw him. I feel like it was that moment in the an old school western where the sheriff locks eyes with the villain and everyone in town was left wondering who would draw first. Since I had what I needed, I quickly shut the closet to which I heard a meow in protest that he did not make his way into the closet this morning. Upon hearing his protest the following occurred:
Me: She picks up the cat, cradling him like a baby. Oliver, my beautiful kitty! You don’t need the closet. The closet shouldn’t contain you. You do you, Oliver! You be an out and proud kitty cat! I love you just the way you are baby kitty! Don’t go back into the closet! Don’t do it!
Oliver: He stares at his human as if she has lost her mind and swishes his tail before eyeballing the empty bed because he can curl up by himself on it and it still potentially be warm. He then flees mom’s arms and curls up in the spot she was laying.
I nodded to myself and of course continued to get ready for work. After finally getting myself situated, I tended to the female feline in the house. My dear Willow. As I’m getting her food ready I see a blur pass me. I think to myself I need my phone so I go grab the device from my room and come back to see Oliver waiting on the scratch post for treats. Treats he thinks he is entitled to since Willow gets wet food for her hairball issues. I also will get her treats sometimes she doesn’t overeat and therefore pukes by default. However when I do that, like this morning I feel this is the conversation that takes place between the three of us:
Me: She picks up the treats, gives Willow some first who has patiently waited without meowing at her for food for once. She turns back to Oliver who is staring at her as if she has just pushed him off the scratch post and told him he’s the worst cat ever.
Oliver: Why are you giving her treats? She already gets something special! IT’S ALL ABOUT ME! ME, ME, ME!!!!!
Willow: He’s being over dramatic again. Thank you for the treats while you fix my food.
Oliver: I’m gonna eat these treats you’re giving me, but just so you know she doesn’t deserve those treats! She has never caught a single mouse. I’m General Mouse Killer around here. Nom, nom, nom.
Me: She sighs and finishes mixing in the wet and dry food together before giving Willow her food bowl and leaving the house.
Willow: You should know she loves me more. Nom, nom, nom. This wet food is the greatest thing since sliced bread and I get treats. It’s because you’re second fiddle.
Oliver: Nom, nom, nom. Whatever, I sleep with her at night now. Licks chomps.
Willow: Bitch.
Oliver: Jerk.
Why they turn into Dean and Sam Winchester I don’t know, but I thoroughly believe that is what happened once I left this morning. I’m afraid to go any further down this rabbit hole of their thoughts though. For now.
michellepatterson.net 
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