The cat was mad at us this morning. Papi the ginger blade made this clear in several way. One, he’d bang on the door to come in the house but then would refuse to come in. He would eventually, though, because it wasn’t his preferred weather outside, as the local weather gods ordered rain and wind. Also, inside is where the food is. Once inside, he’d sit ten feet away, giving us hard, judgemental stares.

“Butter Butt is mad at me because I refused to let him out,” my wife said. “He kept crying but I told him no and he shut up and went away.”

My wife and I have been sleeping in separate rooms because of her medical issues. “Butter Butt went away from your door but he came to me. I let him in and out a few times but finally also said no,” I answer.

“How does he let you know that he wants in?” my wife asked.

“He bangs on the bedroom door slider.”

“So I let him out the front door and he goes around and asks you to come in the back,” my wife said.

“That’s the gist.” It’s more involved, but why go there.

“You’re a demanding little animal,” my wife says to Papi in scolding tones

The orange floof lifts his chin, gives her one more long look, and walks away.

I don’t think this is over.