Momma and the Little Thing are still missing in action. I’m starting to get worried.
In the mean time, I supervised Boy-Dadda while he set up an inflatable bed in the largest upstairs bedroom. I think it’s very nice he put that there for Little Missy and I to sleep on.
Little Missy insisted we let him sleep with us which greatly annoyed me. But, Little Missy’s never-ending whining irritated me more, so, I caved. The three of us shared the bed together.
I awoke in the middle of the night to the worst musical concert I’ve ever heard. I listened for a few seconds, trying to figure out what it was. That’s when I realized it wasn’t music at all. It was Little Missy and Boy-Dadda taking turns snoring. GROSS! Waking them up was the only solution to the problem.
Little Missy was an easy target. I shoved her off the bed while she was stretching. Boy-Dadda was going to be a little trickier.
I slowly crawled up on his stomach and began purring and rubbing his chest with my fluffy paws. Then I began nuzzling his head with my head. He rolled over on his side, taking me with him. But that didn’t stop me. I crawled up onto his side and began pawing the side of his neck and gently head-butting his ear. He pushed me off.
“Gwennie!” He whined. “I’m trying to sleep.”
Perfect. Time to go in for the kill. I crawled back on to his side and as I head butt his ear, let a little drool fall into it.
He frantically rubbed it. “Gross! Stop it!”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “Does that annoy you?” You know what annoys me,” I continued. “NOT GETTING MY PUFF BALLS WHEN I ASK FOR THEM!”
Boy-Dadda jumped out of bed.
“Oh shoot,” I yelled. I ran out of the bedroom and hid just around the corner. Then I slowly peeked just in time to see Little Missy being evicted as well, followed by the door slamming shut.
Little Missy slowly approached me. “Way to go, Gwennie!” She yelled.
“Oh go take a bath!” I yelled back.
The next morning Boy-Dadda fed us, gave us fresh water, and scooped our poop. He’s very well trained. Then he very abruptly went out the front door, locking it behind him. I assumed he was finally going to get my puff balls. Boy was I wrong.
Boy-Dadda didn’t come back.
***To Be Continued***