This is Chester. Our standoff continues.
I can tell he’s not happy because when he’s going down the paasage and I’m going in the opposite direction, he changes sides.
Instead of coming over to see what food he’s getting, he waits in another room. Tgat is fine by me because it takes a liitle longer to find out he’s not in an eating mood.
And come to think of it, he no longer climbs up on the tab l e when we’re having fish. I’ve told him mire than once that eating off someone else’s plate is just not good manners.
Perhaps i should not be so concerned he’s not talking to me, because he’s almost become the cat I’ve always wanted.
What’s that expression, cut your nose off to spite your face.
But, it isn’t going to last. This morning when I go down to the library, which is just a fancy name for my writing room, he’s sitting on top of my closed laptop.
I never used to close but the last time I cleaned it I found cat hair, an alleg a tion he vehemently denied, and tried to tell me it the dog we used to have.
I didn’t bother telling him the laptop is new, and the dog’s been gone for 12 years.
I ask him to move.
He yawns and makes him self more comfortable.
He still hasn’t realised that all I have to do is pick him up, and move him, which I do.
I sit down to start work, he jumps up on the table and gives me that ‘I dare you to do that again’ look, I stare back with the ‘do you really want to do this’ look.
Fifteen minutes later…