12 January 2010


Mitch hates cats. He hates them because they hate him, because he doesn't understand them, and because every time he interacts with one bad things happen (like scratches and hisses and knocked over furniture).

I like to torment Mitch. So, a few years back, I started to meow at him (and I'm a pretty damned good meower if I do say so myself). Initially, my meowing would elicit one of those so-cute-I-could-just-die-happy inquisitive looks from the pup, but he slowly caught on, realizing that I am his birth mother and not a cat.

But my meows continued, even though Mitch went pretty quickly from inquiry, to being annoyed, to completely ignoring me. So now when I meow, it is to entertain me and Matt. (For Matt it hearkens back to a time in our youth when, after imbibing excessively, I would pounce around the yard in the tall grass on my hands and knees, claiming to be a jungle cat.)
So, when I'm at home, I'll sporadically meow. Matt will laugh and Mitch will do his best to ignore me.
Now, though, I am feeling like my little joke has gone too far. This evening I was sitting at my "How To Teach Gifted Kids" class, preparing for a presentation with my group when--completely unprovoked--I let out a soft meow.

Is there some sort of twelve-step program for this?

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