It’s time we had a little talk.

When you see one of these:

It is not enough that you stare it down for ten hours straight. It’s not enough that you corner it in the bathroom for me to come pick up. I don’t want to pick it up. That’s what YOU’RE here for. Um...who's related to the Tiger in this house? Pretty sure it's not me.

What exactly is it you do to earn your keep here?

Monday I go into the bathroom to find Miller perched on the toilet seat. I got excited—maybe he's gonna be one of those cats that wants to use the toilet. Not so. Five hours later I go back in the bathroom and there he remains. Still sitting. Still staring.

I move the bathroom scale out a bit to stand on, and out scrambles a lizardy looking thing. Like I needed anymore proof that jumping on the scales is scary and can induce you to pansy-girl screams.

Because I’m all humane and stuff, I go get these to use to catch and release the salamander thingie:

I throw perched cat out, shut the door, and fearlessly pursue the dragon thing with a cup and plate. (Okay…um, maybe not fearlessly. I might’ve been chanting “Please God, don’t let it eat me. Don’t let it bite my face off.”)

I have him cornered and then the door opens.

And in walks Miller.

My cat, who frequently forgets where his own food bowl, is guilty of walking into walls, and who if he were human would be considered “special”, opened the freakin’ door. My cat OPENED A DOOR! He doesn’t even have claws. By the way, Miller, I am onto you. Your six year dumb routine is OVER. You can clean your own litter box from now on. (And I offer up exhibit A as evidence of his usual level of intellect)

So the door opens and out goes the snaky thing with feet. Right into my office.

I would like to include a picture of my office, but pride won’t let me. Let’s just say right now it looks like it was a victim of Katrina AND the Kansas tornadoes. So there was NO finding that slithery dude.

Forty-eight hours later, Miller is STILL on watch—but now in my closet. (That’s a good feeling), and I have yet to find the little reptile. I know he’s in here somewhere though. Waiting for me…

Cats, you have GOT to start pulling your weight around here. I give and I give and I give. Is reptile-catching too much to ask? No, I don’t think so. You SO deserve off-brand kibbles.

And Miller—tonight is trash night. If you can open the bathroom door all by your claw-less, thumb-less self, you can darn well take the trash out.

Jen

And on a side note—I am grateful to the British Army that Prince Harry will not be serving in Iraq, as promised. He has been forbidden. Thank God all my letters and calls got through. I knew my threats of a hunger strike would work. So thanks to me, Prince Har will not be in danger in the Middle East. And Britain? If you would like to take my cat as a replacement, you may. Apparently he’s got skills.