Living with Scout is sometimes like living with a tiny gangster. He is such a sweet boy most of the time – he loves to purr, cuddle and play, graciously accepting attention at almost any time.
But if he’s angry, it’s best to just get out of the way. It gets bad enough that I’m working on a cool gangster name for him. “The Purr Face Capone” is in the lead right now.
I accidentally locked him in the bedroom closet yesterday. About ten or fifteen minutes passed before I realized the house was too quiet and went looking for him. He’s so dark and small he can hide anywhere and nearly disappear so I took my time searching high and low.
When I finally located him, there were just two little furry paws sticking out from under the door. He wasn’t crying or moving. Just waiting patiently for his incompetent mom to notice his distress signal.
His initial reaction upon release from this dark prison was gratitude. He purred and nuzzled and cuddled for about a minute. Then, without notice, gangster kitty took over and I’m pretty sure he wanted me dead.
So he spent the rest of the day trying my patience, defiantly perching on the dining room table for a better view out the window. He knows he’s not allowed up there and he also knows that it makes me angry.
We spent the entire afternoon bickering over the table and over my record collection which he loves to climb on and threaten to chew. He doesn’t actually bite down but strategically places the corner of the record cover in his mouth as though threatening to destroy it. He knows he won’t get sprayed with water if he’s sprawled out over the records.
We appear to be at an impasse.
Just wait till he finds out the internet is calling him “The Purr Face!” Ha, ha. He’ll hire a hit out on me then.