Cats never miss an opportunity to remind you that cats don't have owners, they have staff.

After their first week here, we began to let our new cats, Binky and Savannah, outside. The weather was good and I used to leave the main front door open and just keep the outside storm door closed.

They could never get outside often enough. Somehow, the two of them managed to rip open a hole in the bottom screen of the storm door large enough that the two of them could scoot in an out of the house at will.

Yes, I have my very own slumlord cat door.

Fine.

Even better, the outside front of the stormdoor is a morass of muddy cat paw prints because of all the fresh landscaping around here. I have given up on trying to keep it clean�the cats total it within moments of me washing it down because they love the freedom of running continuously from the outdoors to the indoors and vice versa.

Well, the hole in the screen is large enough for two semi-grown cats, but Enid and Zubby still need me to open and close the door for them because the hole is too small for them. Plus, they clearly feel that having a doorman is far more upscale than leaping in and out of the slumlord cat door.

Fine.

Fast forward to this morning. With breakfast completed, the four cats congregated at the front door, yelling at me that omigawd didn't I realize that they had places to go, birdfeeders to watch? I opened the inner door and Binky and Savannah sprinted out through the hole in the screen. Enid and Zubby stared at me pointedly until I opened the storm door for them.

Fine.

Everyone was out and I went to close the inner door when Savannah sprinted back in through the hole in the screen. Then she turned, faced the screen door and stared at it. I, in turn, stared at her, puzzled.

She turned to look at me expectantly. I gave her this ????? look and then then the freakin' cat lifted her left paw and gently pressed against the storm door, looking back at me over her shoulder, miming that she wanted me to open the door for her.

Let me repeat this. The cat ran out through the hole in the screen door, saw me open the door for Zubby and Enid, and then sprinted back into the house through the same hole for the express purpose of having me open the freakin' door for HER.

Wait. It gets worse.

I opened the door for the cat. She bounded out with her tail high in the air with zero acknowledgement of the favour I had done her.

Fine.

The spousal unit is working at home right now, building kitchen cabinets in his workshop for a client. Mid-morning he came in for a break and as he drank his coffee and I sipped my cup of tea, I told him the story of Savannah. He did not believe me that she had actually mimed pushing open the door.

Fine.

Well, we heard a scrabbling sound. It was Savannah coming in through the slumlord cat door. She sauntered into the kitchen and crunched down on some kibble. The spousal unit's break was over, so he got up, walked past the cat and headed out towards the door.

The cat stopped in mid crunch and raced ahead of the spousal unit so she could get to the door before him. Then she threw on the breaks, stopped at the door and collected herself. Looking over her shoulder, making sure she caught his eye, she again lifted her left paw and pressed against the door.

The spousal unit burst out laughing and called back to me that she'd done it again.

And, of course, he opened the door for the cat. Who again bounded outside with her tail in the air with zero acknowledgement of the favour he had done her.

As I see it, it's just a matter of time before the cats demand that we wear livery.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 1195.53 miles.
Over half way there. Oh, man, please let this be over