I feel sorry for Phee, not for the birthday party that won’t be, but for her teenage self.
We spent half an hour this evening outside chasing one of the cats, young Thomas, from roof top to roof top before giving in, defeated by a swarm of magpie sized mosquitos. We sat inside stressing about him being out after dark, calling him every name under the sun for breaking the responsible keeping of cat rules about coming inside at dusk; it’s not as if we don’t tell him every night. Before long there was the noise of a huge cat fight in our drive and two bundles of fur rolling to and fro. With much yelling Rae managed to corner Tom in the garage and dispatch Evil White Cat back home.
That was when it really started. Rae was yelling at him for being such a bad boy while I was trying to get him out from under the car. I eventually nabbed him then Rae grabbed him by the scruff and lectured him all the way inside where he was sent to bed (Phee’s) without any supper.
We get this mad at a cat for causing us anxiety about it not coming in. Imagine 18 year old (okay, I can dream, more like 15 year old) Phee trying to sneak in past her alloted home time.
If only she had been awake to learn the lesson tonight, life would be alot easier in 10, okay, 7, years.