Blame Kat ... or cats

A friend of mine has been suggesting to me that I should start a blog. I resisted, but she was persistent, and a few other friends chimed in, saying how funny my e-mails are, so ... here it is. And if you don't like it, you can blame Kat.

Kat is using an old nickname as her blogger name, so in honor of her, I also am using an old nickname: Shel.

Now why would I also blame cats, as opposed to Kat? Well, I have four of them ... and no children, much to the chagrin of my parents and in-laws. I love them, but they can drive me crazy. Here is the ringleader of the trouble:


He looks very innocent, right? Here he is lying on the new(ish) couch. When we originally bought the couch, no cats were allowed on it. Gradually, the rule was relaxed, and I learned to live with a little hair ... and also to keep one of those sticky lint rollers handy. I used to brag that the cats would NEVER scratch the furniture ... until Puma started scratching it. Puma has no shame and no fear. Our vet once diagnosed his condition as "spoiled rotten." And he is, and he knows it. Thus, whenever he is scolded, he resorts to staring at me in a surprised, innocent fashion and then perhaps does whatever it is he is not supposed to be doing for a few seconds longer.

I will not be outwitted by a cat and learned that cats do not like the texture of aluminim foil. It does not offer a satisfactory scratching surface. So I taped sheets of foil to the furniture. And the Puma promptly crawled into a tight corner behind the couch and proceeded to sharpen his claws back there.

So I added even more foil to the furniture. But at least the aliens cannot read my furniture's thoughts.

More later ... I will not be foiled.

Shel