spoiled

I should really post this on my cat's myspace page, but let's not be crazy.

Craig & I are sitting in the living room. The cat's favorite box has long been in the bedroom. We hear the rustling of paper (he's a cat - of course there is paper in his favorite box!) and a small "mew."
More rustling and another small "mew."

Craig: "I think the cat crapped in his box."
me: "No he didn't. We wouldn't crap in his favorite box." but I got up to check anyway.

Mecru had made himself a pillow out of the paper and was using it to rest his head as he looked longingly into the living room. I can read his mind, so I knew that the cat was conflicted because he wanted to be in his box, but he also wanted to be hanging out with us.

So I picked up the box with the giant cat inside and brought it to the corner of the living room.

No more mewing, no more rustling, just content stares from a puddle of a cat.


I wish my life was so tough that my biggest source of uncomfort was wanting my favorite place moved and then having someone actually do it.