Last night, I was going to go upstairs to bed. Greg was already upstairs and the girls were long asleep. Greg had brought me a glass of water earlier which I'd only half drunk, so I picked it up as I started walking to the kitchen. I noticed that the glass Greg had been drinking out of was on the other end table, so I picked that up. I walked into the kitchen carrying the glasses without turning on the light, since the light from the living room suffices.
Imagine my surprise when the sweep of my eyes over the counter was met by a pair of eyes. Rabies was sitting with his paws tucked under him on the kitchen counter (next to the knife block if you know our kitchen). He'd obviously been there for some time and as I looked at him he cocked his head to look up at the vent above the stove, which makes noise when it's windy, as it was last night.
Unlike some people (my sister Pam!), we do not allow our cats on the counter and we never have. I picked him up and put him on the floor, upon which he took off running. When I told Greg about it upstairs, he asked why I didn't kick Rabies's butt.
This morning, I was standing at the kitchen peninsula, reading the paper and eating toast, as I do almost every morning. I finished and turned around to head upstairs. And there was Rabies, in the exact same spot doing the exact same thing.
He's a really quiet jumper, because he wasn't there when I got to the kitchen (he was downstairs eating his breakfast, which I'd just given him). This time, he got spanked. Bad kitty!
It's snowing again, by the way.
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