The namesake is a cat. And two nights ago, he bit me on the face. Not a playful bite.
It was more of a fuckyouIwon’tdowhatyoutellme bite.
He was angry.
I was angry.
And while I am an advocate for peaceful petparenting, a part of me wanted to beat his furry little body. I didn’t, and that’s because I’m not a beater. Or a hitter. I bite, but that wasn’t the time – he’d already bloodied my face.
So now I dislike alfredopotato. I’m strongly considering sending this feral kitten outside to play with the coyotes.
Manparts loves him, so I guess that’s his call.
And there’s this voice in my head that says, “This isn’t a work of art here, anymore. This is an angry cat that you might feel like ignoring for the rest of his life.” The psychology of that is… wild.