How NOT to Greet Your Cat

Every time I come into the house, I’m greeted by three animals: The Dachshund Brothers, Jake and Elwood, and Lady (aka CAT!). Apparently they miss me and are glad to see me return.

The Mew-diful Mistress of Disaster

Well, the Dachshund Brothers do.  I’m not sure about Lady.  The looks she gives are… suspicious.  As if she’d been planning a coup against her canine oppressors and the return of the Hu-Mon spoiled things.  Or maybe sizing me up, wondering if the time had come at last for her to take the foolish Hu-Mon down.

You never know with her.

In any case, as a rule I greet the animals with a hearty “Hey guys!  How ya doin’?”  with petting all around.  I try not to play favorites, so I pet the cat, too.  You know how it is.

The red one’s Jake, the Black and Tan is Elwood.

One day, for reasons unknown, I rough-housed with Jake.  Gave him a fierce but friendly rubbing around the fore-shoulders, shook him a little, that sort of thing.  “Heya Jake howya doin’ good boy!

He’s the littlest of the three, a bit poet moody, but he’s as tough as they come.  Besides, he’s a mini Dachshund.  He should be able to take out mini badgers.  A little rough-house isn’t going to hurt him.

As he seemed to like it, I turned to Elwood, my little scholar.  Biggest chicken on the planet, normally.  Except when he needs to be tough.  Then he gives as good as he gets.

Fierce yet friendly rubbing on the fore-shoulders.  “Heya Elwood howya doin good dog!”

As with his little brother, Elwood likes the treatment.  Both are still right there, tails wagging, ready for more.

I turn and on the stand behind me is Lady.  For some reason, though, she looks expectantly to me.  Like she’s wanting to be treated just like the boys.

I say to myself to myself says I, why not?  I sometimes rough-house with her.  Besides, she has claws.  If she doesn’t like it, I’m certain she’ll let me know.

I start in on her. Fierce yet friendly rubbing on the fore-shoulders.  “Heya Lady howya doin good girl!”

The instant I stopped, she looked up at me and shouted:

“JAYSUS CHRIST!

THE HU-MON’S TRYIN’ TA KILL ME!”

Then darts off into the house to hide, casting terrified looks over her shoulder as she goes.  Almost ran into the doorway, even.

And yes, my cat in a panic sounds like a badly frightened 38 year old drunken Irish man.

Who knew?

The point is, don’t ever greet your cat like that.  Gentle pets and a soft voice, that’s the trick.

Unless you wake up one night to find her trying to smoother you with a pillow.

Then give her an extra rub.  Just to show her not to mess with the Hu-Mon.

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