I am a very fat cat. I pride myself on my girth and my disdain for humans. Since October 2003, unfortunately, my human roommates (I mean really … who can afford to live alone in Boston these days?) have allowed a child into my
living space. She’s a peanut of a girl, but wily and very very noisy. For nearly two years now, I have had to put up with the humiliation of having my ears pulled and the annoyance of her poking and prodding me and yelling, “Mow, mow, mow” in my face.
I have had enough.
Surely there must be a way to rid myself of this pest. Perhaps a quick dash under her feet near a stairwell … a swift, well-aimed nip at her jugular … or maybe something as simple as sucking her breath while she sleeps (which it seems she never does!)
Surely a bulldog as streetwise as you has connections? Help me, Loretta. I can make it worth your while to help me.
P.S. I am attaching a photo to give you an idea of the conditions under which I am living.
These two words are among the most contemptible in pet lexicon; even worse than “we’re going to the vet” or “we bought another pug.”
I feel your pain. Well, that’s not entirely true. I think I feel your pain. You see, I’ve never been attacked by a baby. I suppose babies are overwhelmed by my strong muscles and intoxicating beauty. But I’ve seen the damage babies have inflicted on my pug brother: ear pulling, tail yanking, fur ripping. OH! Such horror!
Although I’ve never been subject to a baby attack — nor will I be — I’ve given the topic of baby attacks great thought. I want to help you, Mouse. I really do. With that in mind, here are a couple of suggestions:
- Try reasoning with the child. I know this can be a Sisyphean task, but I’ve found that a pointed retort can solve most stand-offs. For example, let’s say the Baby tugs your ear. Instead of yelping in terror, you should lower your voice to its most menacing growl and respond: “Baby, you pull my ear again and I’ll feed your face to raccoons.” Crack a small smile and watch as that Baby goes screaming off to mommy!
- If reason doesn’t work, you need to up the ante. Some pets employ overt attacks — the face swipe, the knock-over, and my personal favorite, the room-clearing gas bomb — but it’s often far wiser to use subterfuge. Possibilities include: a line of tacks mysteriously appears in a high-traffic hallway; a small snake waits patiently in the training toilet; the refrigerator just happens to fall … you see what I mean.
- And finally, you can take a page from the government’s playbook and spend trillions of dollars on a space-based Baby Attack Defense System (B.A.D.S). In theory, a system of this nature would use a series of satellites to guard against impending baby attacks. Anytime a baby raises its hand or extends its fingers, a laser would beam down from space and zap that baby into submission. Now, everyone knows a Baby Attack Defense System could never work, but a trillion-dollar price tag would lead to worldwide depression. It’s been proven that worldwide depression has a direct influence on baby attacks: when babies are sad, attacks go down — very simple, really. Of course, a system like this will require massive tax increases and the shut-down of so-called “social” programs, but when it comes to baby attacks, no expense can be spared!
Attorney’s Note: My legal representative has asked that I include the following disclaimer. I argued that legalese would disrupt the flow of my beautiful prose, but my attorney was adamant. So here goes:
“These suggestions are purely hypothetical and in no way stand as recommendations or resolutions. Moreover, Loretta shall not be held liable for any actions readers may take, or any ideas that may be inspired by the heretofore included copy (ibid). Anyone trying to sue Loretta will be met by a phalanx of legal minds armed with cunning defense strategies and big pointy sticks. Thank you.”
Loretta the Baby Attack Abater