BAAAAD CAT.

Rumpole is lucky to be alive. BAD CAT. He normally is WELL behaved, and I don't know what got into him this evening. But he was so bad that all I had to do was LOOK at him and he turned into boneless cat, lying on his back in a mound of fur, staring up at me with huge eyes, terrified because he knew he had been BAD.

Their litter box gets cleaned every other day. It has been every other day, plus a few hours. He was NOT happy about this. So what does the bastard cat do? He finds a shoebox of mine, full of circles I had cut to make lanterns. And he pees in it. I didn't even realize what he had done, but then he made that scratching noise that all cats do after they've gone-- he scratched the litter... but in this case, it was circles. I realized the scratching noise was coming from the wrong direction-- not the direction of the litter box.

Wrath of Jessika ensued.

He is currently on top the bed, trying to make himself as small as possible. Whenever I come in, his ears go against his head, and he looks up at me, pitifully. Crazily enough, I feel bad for yelling at him... but he deserved it! Oh the BAD CAT. 

I finally put Paddington next to Rumpole... Pads is a comfort cat, and he usually has a calming influence. I just checked again, and there's Pads, next to Rumpole. If cats could talk, Pads would be saying "You know you brought this on yourself. You can't do that! But it's ok, man, it's ok." I know, I'm personifying again, but that is SO the way they are sitting there. 

I am glad I didn't have ALL the circles in one spot. And really, they're just circles. Could have been worse. But still, BAD cat. BAD BAD BAD.

Now Rumpole, would you please let me pet you without you looking sad and miserable? Don't punish ME for your wrongdoings.