Every so often, MomGoth waylays me and gives me a caticure. I don’t like it, but I do like it that my claws don’t snag on the rug, so I don’t get mad at her. I just wiggle and wrestle and try to run away; I never hiss or growl or scratch or bite. That would be so naughty! It would also be the kiss of death, I do believe.
When MomGoth gets mad, she gets bigger, and her eyes get SO WIDE to let all the thunder and lightning out of her head, and she talks in a regular volume but really smooth and hard so it’s like being hit between the eyes with a river rock. She says things like, “I ain’t believin‘ you just [fill in the blank].” So we pretend I didn’t, and I never do it again. Unless I forget. She forgives me if I forget, but you bet she reminds me!
The picture to the left is my beloved scratching pad. I love it, love it, love it. I has catnip in it. Sometimes I use it as a pillow, but mostly I scratch it and scratch it and purrrrrr.
But my claws get too long and I make noise when I walk on the carpet, and then MomGoth sneaks the clippers out of the drawer and wrestles me to the floor and clips my nails. It takes longer than it ought to because I fight it, and MomGoth has trouble being careful; she never has cut my nails too short so that they bleed, even though I make it hard for her. I don’t mean to make it hard; I just don’t like to have my paws messed with.