They brought in a new one. Small. Blue-eyed. Soft fur like a marshmallow rolled in mischief. Don’t let the innocent face fool you—this one’s got claws and chaos in equal measure.
He’s been here five minutes and already:
• Knocked over a plant.
• Climbed the curtains.
• Tried to eat a USB cable.
• Got humped by Reggie (twice).
Reggie says it’s “dominance.” I say it’s jealousy. The new guy gets all the attention, and Reggie’s not having it. Every time the kitten pounces on a shadow or chews a shoelace, Reggie’s there—like a grumpy hall monitor with paws and questionable boundaries.
We call him The Inmate because he’s always doing time in the laundry room for “crimes against peace.” But he never learns. He’s back out in five minutes, tail high, ready to commit another felony.
I give him two weeks before he figures out how to open the treat drawer. Then we’re all doomed.
— Signed, The Cat Who Watches