Me: Oh, here he comes, into the kitchen, begging for food.
Him: Well, have you ever tasted cat food? It tastes like. . . cat food.
Me: Well, that's all you're getting. And no kitties in the laundry room!
Him: I hate you. I wish you never adopted me.
Me: Oh? Okay. Fine. Go back to the little cage in the gritty shelter in the slums of Jersey City. See how you like living there.
Him: Oh, like NO ONE else would have adopted me. Have you seen me? I'm fucking adorable.
Me: I don't like your language.
Him: Well, you curse all the time.
Me: Do as I say, not as I do.
MY GOD I AM MY MOTHER.
Him: And you know what? I really don't appreciate you writing about me masturbating in that last blog post.
Me: What? I thought it was funny. Oh, shit. This reminds me of the time on Eight is Enough when Tom Bradford was writing a book, and his son Tommy got upset because he was going to include a story about Tommy wetting the bed. When the Hell is that coming out on DVD?
Him: I don't know what you're talking about. This conversation is over.
I need to be with people. It's non-negotiable.
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2 comments:
Hmmm....I'm not sure who won this argument. That cat is pretty slippery.
I love your cat conversations.
My husband and I have conversations with our cat, except one of us will be the "voice" of the cat and the other will be ourselves. Seriously, from his expression you can totally tell what he's thinking.
That's sad, isn't it?
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