Salem runs up to me out of breath and panting. “Where’s a good place to hide?” His eyes dart around the room.
“The teenager’s room. You’ll never be found in there.” I flick my paw toward the smelly room down the hall.
Salem looks in that direction then asks, “What does ‘teenager’ mean, anyway?”
“Someone who doesn’t bathe.” Geez, I have to explain everything.
I narrow my eyes, “Why are you hiding?”
“You know that special blankie our human always points to and says don’t touch it?”
“Yeah.”
“I touched it.”
Of course he touched it. It’s in the Cat Handbook of Thou Shalts.
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Funny! Sounds like him.
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You can never tell a cat not to touch something! It’s like a wet paint sign. Gotta see if it’s really wet.
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True, and Salem does his own thing anyway. Annoys our human though.
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