Almost . . .

I had been suspiciously good lately about not charging the front door every time it opens. Latley I've just been casually approaching it and greeting everyone who comes to it. Mom even had a sales lady over the other night, and she had the door open for 20 minutes while they were chatting, and I stood back the whole time, showing off my belly to the sales lady, not even going near the door. hehehe--strategy. Mom won't let me be an outdoor kitty. Something about how she doesn't trust people to not hit me with their cars, or dogs to not attack me, and something about how I was so 'bad' with my claws that she had to have them removed to spare the Cookman, the furniture, and her hands. Whatev. So last night she was in and out for a minute, shaking out the mat she keeps under my litterbox. I thought it was the perfect opprtunity to make a break for it. Little did I realize how hard that would be in a second-floor walk-up. She thought she had shut the door, but I poked my paw out and got it open . . . and I was off . . . until I got halfway down the stairs and she caught up with me. She grabbed me really tight and carried me back in. I was not anticipating those stairs. I was totally up for a barefoot nightime chase (good thing mom just got a tetanus shot, in case I ever do it again when she's barefoot), but she thought that was a stupid idea. I guess I scared her because when she picked me up, her heart was practically beating out of her chest. She said I was a bad, bad bunny. I didn't get any treats for 3 whole hours after that, and I had to be extra cute to get them. Just because the last time I got out she found me 4 days later stuck in a tree doesn't mean that I don't know what I'm doing. I just like to keep her on her (bare) toes. I'm not a bad bunny, nor am I a chubby bunny. I'm a FLUFFY orange KITTY-CAT, I don't care what she says. Back to hiding my fake mice so they unexpectedly clog up the vacuum cleaner. I like it when mom cleans. I like to keep it interesting, anyway.

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