Not because he's big, fat, lazy, and won't get out of my computer chair, but because he's so flippin' mean. The slice on the back of my leg from a week or so ago is close to healing, and then last night I'm attacked leaving a 3-inch cut complete with a couple puncture wounds. I was standing out at recess today (in a skirt) when a student from last year walked up behind me and said, "Mrs. Schaeffer - did your cat do that?" She remembers how often I'd come to school with my battle scars. And then there's the bites on my arm from a couple weeks ago.
Sometimes I wish I could know what he is thinking.
I get some satisfaction with the addition of Betsey to our household. She pesters Junior as much as Duke does, which somehow helps even things out. And then there are those moments I relish when I can make a fool of him, like the humiliation seen here post-bath:
I know he's with us until he dies, but there are days I fantasize about how that will happen.
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