Amber & What's Mine is Yours, Except Sandwiches

Anyone who has read more than two posts on this blog knows that I love my cats. A lot, a lot, a lot. In fact, I let them take all kind of liberties that maybe I shouldn't. Some of which might land me with a visit from a stern British woman in a jumpsuit who would tell me that my cats really want me to be more in control of them and take back command of our home.

One example of something I recognize needs to change is Ginger's need to milk tread and push his cold, wet, purring nose on my face at 3 am every night. Luckily, he's stopped doing it since I made him a sleep spot at the foot of the bed with a towel because how could I tell this cutie little face that I didn't want him to show me he loved me?


And, not only do I let Woody have his own pillow in the bed, but the cats are allowed to use my dresser drawers as nap environments... which explains the coating of fur all over my clothes.


But look how happy he is!

But, today, we defined the limits of what I am willing to share with my animals. The border lies between sandwich crumbs and the actual sandwich. Licking the plate after I am done is fine, but attacking and eating the sandwich while I am on a professional business call is Not Okay.

Moreover, it is even Less Okay if you steal a giant bite of my sandwich and then start to make mournful noises because you are going to puke it back out onto the couch during my professional business call. And, even Fewer Okaynesses apply to then, while I am busy cleaning up your puke discretely while talking to my boss about print order projections, go over and take some giant licks out of my Cafix.

Cats, be aware: I love you more than fur-free clothing, more than having space in my own bed, more than a solid night's sleep... but not more than my lunch.