Since moving from the country, Boca cat has become much more complacent and, well, kinda fat. In the morning when I am getting ready for work and he wants a drink from the sink, I tell him if he can’t jump up onto the bathroom counter, well then he can’t get a drink from the running faucet. And then like most parents, weeks later I discovered that when my husband gets up after me, he picks him up and sets him on the counter for a drink every morning. Not very good pet parenting on our part, as usual. Kind of like when we feed Abbey twice because she is such a good liar that “OMG no one fed me this morning!” (It doesn’t work at night because we can check).
But back to the cat. As usual, what got Boca in trouble was the dead bunny.
Now, I will admit that this was an accomplishment for a bit overweight Boca. Because there are simply no bunnies running around our neighborhood. Which means he had to travel across the street to the field, catch the bunny, carry it two blocks back to the house, under the backyard fence, through the pet door and into the spare bedroom.
And then ate the head.
I got a text message around 11 am from my husband: “You have to clean up the dead animal in the bedroom when you get home.”
Of which my quick response was to text Christina and say: “You need to throw out the dead carcass that Boca brought inside last night.”
Christina willingly offered to throw it away but “only because there wasn’t bloody guts everywhere.”
To which I then texted my husband: “If I clean up the dead body, will you get the blood out of the carpet?”
“Deal,” he replied.
No one should be this smart.
However, I still had to explain to Boca that since we now live in a rental house, he was no longer allowed to kill various vermin and bring them inside. I am not sure he quite understood the lecture, especially since he was yawning at me the whole time, but I do know one thing: If we end up losing our rental deposit because of dead animal clean up, it is coming out of his Friskies cat food.