gettin' kitty wid it

a tale of feline domination

The kitten seems to think that the chair that I sit in at the supper table belongs to her. My chair? The dad seat at the head of the table? She thinks it's her’s

She’s ripped the vinyl covering to shreds. It’s bleeding stuffing. Were it a teddy bear, a Ken doll priest¹ would be giving it the last rights.

From my point of view, it’s my chair. But, if you look at it from a purely statistical basis, it is more her chair than mine. She spends most of her days lounging there, staring out the window at the crows.

When I go to sit, she refuses to move. Instead she glares and hisses. It’s almost like she expects that to keep my cranky dad ass from squishing her. Instead of outright crushing her little kitty body, I am strategic. I place my ass on a bit of chair then slide it sideways until she leaps away.

Success is fleeting. As soon as I get up she first hops up onto the table and places her poo starfish exactly where my fork rests before diner is served. The little brat likely farts a little c…