First, I separated him from his friends and dragged him across the Atlantic, in the cargo hold. Then, I made him live in half the space he’s used to in a place that’s dark and frigid all winter.
Now I practice random Danish phrases at him… *”Jeg elsker kikærter. Godt gået! Det er forår. Jeg spiser ikke kød. Er der kød i? Jeg er vegetar. Pøj pøj med det! Det er varmt. Det irriterende! Vi ses.”
I let him sleep on the bed, I comb him, I snuggle him, I keep the heated floors on for him, and I don’t drag him to cat shows. All things considered, he’s got a pretty good life, but still sometimes I feel like the worst cat mom, ever!