My pussy cat Mr. Ted E. Bear loves to hate me.
For some odd reason, even though I shower the little love of my life with more affection than a newborn human, he can be so bitchy. Many times when I’d like to scoop him up for a photo-op, he loves me not.
Still not loving me.
Forced to love me.
Teddy gets extremely annoyed with football season, as every Saturday becomes a drunken moonshine guzzling family affair and he isn’t afraid to showcase his disdain.
But what I can’t understand is Ted’s pissy behavior when I shove him into his Sunday best…
Or dress him up in a bee costume…
Or make him be a version of Robin Thicke to my Miley…
Or make him the Catman to my Catwoman.
What I do know is that regardless of whatever giddy up I shove Tedstar into, he always warms up (after some treats are dispersed – green peas are his fave), comes back around (once I have thoroughly massaged between his ears, under his chin with the grand finale of a belly rub) and gets in the saddle once again to be my constant sidekick.
And when a hungry, crying, soaking wet cat showed up at the door one cold January night, I couldn’t help but take him in and try to find him a permanent home, which ended up being mine. Introducing a new pussy into the mini manse, Mr. Bear wasn’t sure what the fuck I was thinking and proceeded to act as if I ceased to exist.
Ted made clear that he was the man in charge, even when it came to the dreaded photos in which I always make him pose.
But eventually, I was kicked to the curb and a new love story began to blossom.
But no matter how much my main pussy loves to hate me, we always kiss and make up.
Whether he likes it or not.