The cats have infiltrated MOB's apartment, and he's not quite sure what to think of it. As a man who grew up without pets, it makes him a little uneasy to have random, furry objects following him around and sleeping in his recliner. As a woman who grew up with plenty of pets, I forget that it's not normal for a cat to parade across the kitchen counter while I'm making dinner.
I've also realized that I've raised these cats to be heathens and they have absolutely no manners.
"You know, they say bad behavior can be linked to bad parenting," he said to me as Harley crawled into the kitchen cabinet, and I hung my head in shame.
I spent most of last night chasing Harley off of desk tops and refrigerators and leather furniture, while Chicken sat smugly in a chair playing angel. All of this behavior is OK with me because, well, they're my cats, but I realize that it's just plain inappropriate for your pets to defile someone else's property.
I see MOB walking through his apartment, nearly on tip-toes, as if he's expecting a cat to attack at any minute. He's really at a loss with what to do with himself in the presence of animals. Poor, deprived child.
I promised him that when we three move into our own apartment in a week, I'll vacuum every last drop of cat hair and he'll never even know they were here. Just don't tell him Chicken puked on his bedroom floor.
(Hi! I cleaned it up pretty!)