(I always wash before scratching….)
Cat scratches can be scary as all get out.
Which brings me to manners. My mama and papa have taught me that manners work for me, not against me. Just like people’s manners. When I first sidled up to the patio door and mama spotted me skulking around the garden and looking interested, I had no idea I would end up in a house where civility is respected and please and thank you still exist, even after all the time mama and papa have known one another.
They still talk about the elderly, beautiful couple in France (at Le Baux, a fancy restaurant – no cats allowed) who gave the vous to one another all during the lunch and were so intriguing that mama asked the maitre d’hotel (that’s the head honcho in French) just who they were and he said, “Oh, they’ve been having a rendezvous here for years, once a year—they are lovers.” Well, mama thought that was adorable, but she gives the tu to papa, you can bet your boots.
But I found the other night, a kitty can’t have manners in her sleep when she’s dead to the world.
I was in the arms of Morpheus when papa’s hand accidentally fell on me where I was snoozing next to mama and whoa…I leapt in the air about a foot and threw my claws out into the thing nearest me, which was papa. He leapt up, blood everywhere (well, on his hand…) and I even managed to nick mama in the process and off they went to douse themselves with alcohol and put on band-aids and I went under the bed, scared out of my wits by those crazy people!!! I was dreaming of pit bulls—whaddya expect me to do?
