Pet confusion

I was on the phone to my Mum earlier when she mentioned that between them, her and my Dad have decided to treat El Mog like a dog when they're housesitting over Easter. "Because, well, he's not very bright is he?" she reasoned.

I was mildly outraged – she's got a point, yeah, but I like to think Mog has a modicum of catlike intelligence about him. Cut to: about half an hour ago.

My sofa isn't going to win awards for its commodiousness, but it's still a two seater that I comfortably snuggle into one side of. I don't even take up the entire sofa cushion. I'd put the netbook on the floor, slightly to my left (middle of the sofa), to concentrate on Newswipe. Then the cat decided he wanted to come for a pet.

There was an entire half of the sofa available for him to jump on. Wide open, uncluttered. But of course he didn't want to do that. He wanted to jump up right next to me, even though that involved leaping the computer at the same time. I have never seen such a display of wide-eyed concentration combined with determined bum-waggling as he demonstrated getting up here.

I have a dog. Oh, dear sweet lord, I have a dog.

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