WHO’S THE BOSS? | ZOEY FOR PRIME MINISTER
Zoey The Cat’s Morning Path of Destruction
She wants breakfast and knows I’ll follow her to the kitchen, but I can’t let her know that I know, pretty sure she knows that too
One little six-pound furry body, that’s light as a feather during the day, feels like a bowling ball before the alarm when I’m still in dreamland.
Once she has traipsed up my back and across my shoulders, sometimes pressing a tiny foot into my ear, she bounces off of me onto the edge of the bed, just to give me a good jostle; then she springboards off the edge of the bed onto the nightstand.
She aims for the small space behind the lamp, and lands softly, like a cat because she’s a cat, and the accuracy of her landing is crucial. Then she bats at the lamp until it tips over, drops, and dangles by its cord a few inches above the floor.
Her next target is the Alexa speaker. I’d like to set her up to yell at Zoey when a cat paw hovers over the device if only that was an option.
Anyway, Alexa goes down and is left laying on the floor. I’ll set her back up later. While I grope in the dark to try and save the lamp, I feel the cat breeze across my arm. She leaps off the…
