It's the Hard-Knock Life... For Sugar

Sugar has gotten more and more daring, recently. We made the fatal mistake of taking her outside on a leash, once (yeah, we were those people- the ones with a cat on the leash) and she l-o-o-o-o-v-e-d it. (The outdoors, not so much the leash.) Ever since, she has been plotting her dash to freedom. She has gotten sneaky about the front door opening, and we have learned to pick her up when guests come in or out because Sugar has figured out that unsuspecting guests are less quick to shut the door than mom, with her lightning-like reflexes. (ha.)

So when the snowstorm of the century (or, at least, the last two years) hit, I decided to teach Sugar a little lesson. Because I am cruel and sadistic, finding pleasure in the little fluff ball’s pain. I opened the door wide, and walked out into a drift of snow, about two feet high all “ho hum, I seem to have forgotten the door…” and The Funasaurus followed me because he wanted to see the action, and sure enough, Sugar was right on his heels.

There was the dart, and then the sudden squeal of “Ew my PAWS are COLD AND WET! MOTHERFUCKER!” And then she climbed The Funasaurus like a tree, wiping her paws on his jacket as she went. So she sat on The Funasaurus’ shoulders looking out over the sea of whiteness all, “This is not how I remembered it.” She kept trying to touch the snow on the railing, and would get very confused when it would a) fall away and b) make her cold and wet. Again.

I was laughing so hard, I forgot to get a picture. But Sugar was still angry at how this had all turned out, and she would seek vengeance. A blast of wind did her in, as she squished her little face into a look of pure feline disgust, and we retreated inside.

A little later, we decided we should probably see what it would take to shovel out our driveway, and we opened the door to the garage to get our boots. There was a sound which I think was either a sonic boom, given her speed, or an unsteady pile of 2X4s being knocked over, I’m not sure, by Sugar in all of her quest-for-freedom-fury.

“Sugar!” I screamed.

“She’s not really going anywhere, what with the garage door being closed and all,” reasoned The Funasaurus.

“Get her get her get her!” I screamed, jumping from foot to foot, not really being the reason-y-type.

So we got down on our hands and knees and realized just exactly why some people bother to sweep their garages from time to time, and finally hauled out a formerly white kitty from under the car. She was disgusting and hateful, but I was very relieved to have her back in the house. Her first course of action, upon being released from my vice grip once we were safely locked back in the house, was to jump onto my kitchen counter with all of her car grease and garage floor filth. “Sugar!” I screamed, for the bazillionth time.

She jumped down, rolled her eyes, and went to her kitty tree to clean herself up. (Side note. The link to the cat tree is not our exact one... but I do think I MUST own it, because it is PINK and named Sugar. If that's not a sign, I don't know what is.) As far as I can tell, she was awake most of the night, glaring at us from her perch. But thus far, there have been no more breaks for freedom. We’ll see what tonight brings, though, when I have to leave the house wearing heels. She knows, man. She knows. And she is plotting.



Oh, and P.S. I got a job. Yay.