Let me preface this by saying that much to my chagrin, as a dog person, I do actually love Barney. True fact. But some history is in order here. When I first met Barney, one of the first things he conveyed to me is that he would like some pants. Notice I don't say, "said to me." Cats don't talk, but sometimes they convey. Also a true fact.
He wanted me to convey this message to the Mister and so I did. I told him that Barney would like some pants, specifically, red bloomer-style pants with white polka dots. Sorta like clown pants, I thought, but in Barney's mind's eye, more like zoot suit pants- snazzy and a hit with the ladies.
He wanted me to convey this message to the Mister and so I did. I told him that Barney would like some pants, specifically, red bloomer-style pants with white polka dots. Sorta like clown pants, I thought, but in Barney's mind's eye, more like zoot suit pants- snazzy and a hit with the ladies.
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| Not quite what he has in mind, but proof that cat pants do exist. |
Here is what I think now: The Mister has never bought pants for Barney. Au contraire. Mysteriously, Barney gets new pants at the crack of dawn every day but no one gets to see this. Think Pinocchio. When Pinocchio lies, his nose grows. When Barney lies, his pants disappear.
And Barney is a chronic liar. Every morning I feed him a proper breakfast. Then the Mister gets up and Barney tells him that he's hungry. The Mister will ask him, "Didn't BBI feed you?" And Barney will straight up lie about it. Convincingly. Then the Mister rewards him for lying. Thus Barney maintains his weight- 17 freakin' pounds. If confronted about his weight, he claims that he is naturally a big-boned Farm Cat and must maintain in order to protect us all. (From baby bunnies, you know.)
Hey Barney, you hungry? "Rreow."
1 comment:
I live with 3 cats. They don't want pants. But they do lie, cheat, and steal. Our little college student who lived with us for a while complained that her ballet slipper was missing. Missing I said. How can that be? Did you look under your bed? Yes. Did you look in your car? Yes. Did you look at Becca's? Yes. The sweetie left her stuff all over the place. She claimed that we have a ghost in the basement that stole her knitting needle and now her ballet slipper. Now ballet slippers are heavy for they have a wooden block in the toe. The slipper was no where to be found. One day I am making my own bed. Looking down behind the headboard I see a pink ballet slipper. The ties are satin ribbon. This satin ribbon had tiny little poke holes--Jasmin teeth marks. Kitty hauled the ballet slipper all the way from the bedroom in the far corner of the basement where our little college student/dancer lived. She drug it clear across the basement floor, up the stairs, through the laundry room, across the kitchen so she could hide it under my bed. Her little treasure. No, cats here don't want pants, but ballet slippers. And they steal.
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