Miss Margot and I are now in sync about keeping her washed and brushed; she’s agreed to stop pooping on herself, and I’ve agreed to use a much more pleasant and comfy brush. As a result domestic harmony is much improved. Now, if she would just stop using Jeff’s computer desk as a jungle gym when he’s trying to work, and then crying piteously outside his door when he casts her into the outer darkness (basically, anywhere where there are no people) life’d be pretty much rocking.
My feline superior
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