Shame, Can Opener, Shame!

What a way to spend the night! The Can Opener and I went downstairs fairly late last evening; he to "sort stuff" (ie. play video games) and me to "help him" (ie. bat at Sonic The Hedgehog). After awhile, I went off to rest in another part of the basement. When he was done, he gave a cursory glance around the room and went upstairs, closing all those kitty-proof doors behind him. Memo to Can Opener: cursory glances aren't good enough.

Sure, I slept for most of the night. Sure, he came down and got me as soon as he awakened and, with no sign of me in the bedroom, allowed entry into his dim little brain the possibility that he'd committed a horrible crime. Sure, I purred and rubbed myself against him for a good five minutes after he let me out.

But, Can Opener, you know those moments when you're walking past me, and for no apparent reason, I hiss and punch your foot with my fist? And you exclaim, "Musette, what has gotten into you?"

Those are the moments when I'm thinking about things like last night.