Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Job security.

"Mom. Will you smell the cat?"

It's an odd request, I know--but I hear it a couple times each day of late. MU is convinced that the new kitteh smells like clean laundry. I think this just fanciful thinking on her part, but who am I to argue with true love?

On the other hand, sticking my face into the fur of a creature with four brand-new sets of factory installed, still-under-warranty steel claws smells like danger to me. Furthermore, I have seen this animal in action and have noted that she spends a great deal of each day extricating herself from either the furniture or the carpet, having accidentally Velcroed herself to any surface with which she comes into contact. Obviously, she has not yet made time to completely familiarize herself with the owner's manual.

"I'm sure she smells lovely," I say, "but I don't have time right now to savor the cat."

"No. I mean, will you smell her and see if she smells like poo? Will you check her feet for poo?"

image, Yale Collection of American Literature, Geinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library.

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