Moggy sits on the dining room table staring inperiously down his nose in my general direction.
"Stop doing that!"
It takes the hauty statue a full five-seconds to close his eyes. I begin my reverse 10-count, for the umptenth time tonight...
On the backside of the nine, his eyes close...
...and remain closed as the numbers dwindle...dwindle...dwindle...in fac, they remain closed so long I consider placing a mirror beneath his nose to check for breathing.
Without disturbing his head or ramrod spine, he slowly shifts his eyes until they lock directly on mine. Only then does his front left paw extend as he tap-taps lightening-fast--
I watch, mouth agape, as the newly sorted receipts flutter off the table, and haphazardly fall into a jumble joining an open book, three bookmarks (none gainfully employed), a sales catalogue, sadoku book with mechanical pencil clipped inside and holding my place as if it were a bookmark, and a bag of recently refilled prescription bottles.
His eyes are icy as he continues to glare--taunting me to continue the countdown.
I calmly walk to the table and place a salad plate with melty cheese nacho's with-in sniffing distance, but just outside his paws reach. After he sniffs deeply, I tear off a tiny morsel of gooey cheese and slowly pass it under his nose--
--directly into the open mouth of the FurKid who has not purposefully made a mess for me tonight.
Bandit dances his Happy Dance, then assumes his pretty sit, signaling he is ready to receive another treat.
I laugh as I retrieve the items from the floor and place them on the table for resorting tomorrow.
Two can play this passive-agressive game, Moggy. Two. Can. Play.