Just another cat story
In our household of two single girls and a small cat, it's become clear to me that Pony has decided that Carly is the dad, while I'm the harried stay at home mom. In the evening when talking to my roommate, I have a kitten constantly attacking my thigh, my knee, my ankles, and/or my shins, while he ignores Carly's legs entirely. I try to firmly but persistently remove his sharp teeth and claws from my pants and/or flesh, but my attempts are apparently just part of the fun.
Carly looks at him, says "No" once, and he bows his wee kitten head apologetically.
This is likely because Pony and I are always involved in epic battles over what he can and cannot bite, and he tires of my refusal to let him have his fun. Most of our interactions throughout the day look something like this:
Pony: I'm going to attack that plant!
Karina: Don't do that, please.
P: I'm going to attack that plant!
K: Hey, I said not to do that. Why don't you go over here and play with a mousie?
P: I'm going to attack that plant!
K: No. Leave the plant.
P: I'm going to attack that plant!
K: No!
P: I'm going to attack that plant!
K: NO!
P: *acts casual* Oh, okay, I'll just go over here and ... I'm going to attack that plant!
And then we continue in this manner for half a bloody hour. One doesn't want to reward the insane behaviour of one's adolescent cat, but he gets this look in his eyes that says, "I am a creature running entirely on instinct, and you're standing between me and my plant," all you can do is get out the fluffy-thing-on-a-string and make him run and leap wildly until he lays panting on the kitchen floor unable to do more than wave a weary paw in the direction of the puff ball dangled before his face.
Or, you know, go hide in your cat-free sanctuary of a room and emerge a while later to discover that he has viciously gutted a pillow.