My beautiful little calico kitten, is a conniving wench. I wouldn’t go so far, as to say she is a bad girl, but she is a little stinker. Frosti has Chester wrapped around her little paw. Regardless of what is going on in Chester’s world, when Frosti calls, he comes running. Frosti has the most pitiful little squeaky meow. Even if I am petting Chester, which is his favorite thing in the world (almost), her meow takes precedence. I don’t mind that. What bothers me, is when she deliberately, gets Chester in trouble.
As I told you in Battle of Wills and Desperation, I have been trying to keep Frosty off of the stove. I question her intelligence, because of her choice to inspect it, when the burners are hot. Rather than try to isolate the stove, I am training her to stay off of the kitchen counters entirely. The squirt gun has been pretty effective, and I am beginning to think she might understand what NO, means. At least she is starting to know what it means. Whether she chooses to pay any attention, is another story. Today, I grabbed the squirt gun, to discover it was empty. I got away with just pointing my finger at Frosti. I guess she didn’t want to test whether I could squirt water from my fingertip. Where I am getting the title of this post, is that the little conniver, decides to get Chester in trouble, by involving him in her stove expedition. I was in the other room, and I hear Frosti doing her “come hither” meow. I come into the kitchen to see Chester sitting beside her on the stove, looking bewildered. Her ploy didn’t work, and she got squirted, and poor Chester just got put down, and petted. She hasn’t repeated this ploy to date.
Frosti is such a “foodie”, that she follows me into the kitchen every time I go in there. The thing that confuses me, is that I NEVER feed her human food. She still tries to sneak a bite off of my plate, almost every time I eat in my recliner, while watching TV. That frankly is where I eat 90% of the time. If she isn’t napping on the arm of the recliner, I often find her asleep in front of the refrigerator door. I keep my scales in front of the fridge, to keep my own snacking impulses in check. So Frosti’s naps are often on the scales, but I don’t think she is worried about her girlish figure. She uses her impish charm, beautiful face, but most of all her soulful eyes to try to get out of trouble. Whenever I catch her doing something she shouldn’t (which is fairly often), she plops her butt down and gives me a, “Who Me?” look accompanied by that pitiful meow, that controls Chester. It works on me too. I admit that I’m wrapped around her little paw too.