Rascal vs. The Twit

We have a cat.

This was not my choice. My husband and children harangued me for days until I finally gave in. Needless to say, all promises of helping with litterbox duty and Kitten Chow refills were promptly forgotten. By them.

This cat seems to love me best. I just don't get it. I think her loving attention irritates me so much that I feel evil delight when something befalls her. Y'know, as long as it's nothing serious.

So when Rascal gets it into his head to "play" with her, I am honestly conflicted about what my response should be. I'm glad the two of them are playing with each other and staying out of my hair for those few minutes, but still I am concerned that Twit's life not be prematurely ended.

Today he put her into the washing machine. Last week he threw her into the hot tub. But this is in fact an improvement. A few weeks ago while I was mopping the floors, he chucked her into my bucket of Murphy's Oil Soapy water.

This silly Twit keeps coming back for more. I think she likes the attention.