(no subject)
After seeing me trek out to the compost bin, Bingley spent ten minutes yesterday crying to go outside. So this morning, after I shoveled the driveway, I put his leash on him and took him out back. My brilliant plan was that he would set his tender little feet in the snow, realize this was a terrible idea and scoot back inside, happy for once to be a house cat.
Of course, what actually happened was that he set foot in the snow, decided that was not good, and went and got comfy on the snow-free stoop. Then he looked at me like, "I'm cool here. You can go now."
So I had to drag him in after all. Why did I forget that you can never, ever predict a cat?
Of course, what actually happened was that he set foot in the snow, decided that was not good, and went and got comfy on the snow-free stoop. Then he looked at me like, "I'm cool here. You can go now."
So I had to drag him in after all. Why did I forget that you can never, ever predict a cat?