To any guy who's married, the sooner you embrace that truth the better. As a result of that self-erasing…um, I mean…self-effacing principle, I've been conditioned to believe that my wife is clearly the boss of our household. However, I now have startling physical evidence that proves that is not the case.
I direct your attention to the aforementioned proof captured in the photo insert. You can clearly see that one of our glowing, demon-eyed cats is actually in charge of our house. I make that claim based on the sole fact in the photo you can clearly see that this fuzzy hell spawn has commandeered one of my wife's favorite cashmere sweaters - I would like to emphasis CASHmere sweaters (did I mention that CASHmere costs a lot of money??).
Regardless this adorable Diablo - whose name is Jasmine "Jazzy" Blue (EDITORIAL NOTE: our cats do indeed have first, middle and last names. The other winsome interloper is named Molly Sue Mittens. How weird is that??? This naming anomaly is worthy of a separate post, yet deserving of a mention here...but I digress...) -shamelessly drags here ill-gotten
Here's the kicker, my wife thinks it’s "adorably cute" how this felonious feline has taken a shining toward a piece of her wardrobe and has “adopted” it as her woolen ward. This signals to me a seismic shift in the power differential within our family.
Case in point, using a completely fictitious example, if I were a handy-mechanically-inclined-grease-monkey-type-of-guy who tinkered with cars and such, I guarantee there would be hell to pay if I took the same CASHmere sweater to clean my socket wrenches or wax-and-buff my ride.
So, I don’t know when exactly the cat’s coup-de-tat occurred but it did – because my wife is willingly surrendering contents of her closet real estate to the cuddly insurgents who are now ruling our home with a furry fury.
Just like Congress, our cats accountable to no one! They eat when they want. They sleep when they want, only waking to frolic around the domicile at their whim for a few minutes. All while their human serfs support, feed and clean up after them daily.
Within four short months, these two animals have created for themselves a stealth aristocracy that has their dingle-berried keisters firmly ensconced at its pinnacle.
Hmmm…maybe I’ll ask Santa for a new pet that can provide me comfort and relief from their ruthless rule – perhaps a pragmatic pet, such as a boa constrictor or tree python that has a “fondness” for smallish live game (it's just a joke, only kidding...sort of....)