Great, Now I'm a Role Model

I have three cats.

Correction. The Wife has three cats, one of which is always somewhere inconvenient. Sitting in my chair. Laying on my book. Eating food off the counter. Snoozing right in the middle of the hallway, even though they know that my big old clumsy feet are bearing down on them (I've got a few scars from that particular scenario).

So, I am forever pushing cats out of my way, nudging them off the table, yelling at them not to claw my already mangled sofa, etc. And over the years they have become (more or less endearingly) The Goddamned Cats.

Evidently my perceptive Boy has picked up on this, and I got to see first hand how he handles a little thing like a Goddamned Cat laying on his train set. First, he pulls out the warning finger, with a suitable, "Kitty, move!" The response is predictable: one eye comes half open and lazily slides shut.

Now it was time to pull out the big guns. "Kitty, move!" with a swift kick to the butt. Mission accomplished. Atta boy.

But, of course, I can't let that happen. "Hey, that's not nice! We don't kick ..." -- I almost inserted "the Goddamned Cat" here, but then thought better of it -- "...our good friend Kitty. Now, you go hug her and say you're sorry. Go on!"

Hypocrite me.