I have a new job.
Apparently, I’m a doorman.
Halo has decided that the front door is no longer simply a door. It is a revolving door, and I am required to operate it whenever she feels the urge.
She wants out.
Fine. I open the door.
Five minutes later, she’s sitting on the other side staring through the glass like she’s been abandoned for weeks.
So I let her in.
She walks around the house for approximately three minutes, maybe gets a snack, checks that nothing exciting has happened in her absence… and then she wants out again.
Seriously?
I open the door.
Out she goes.
And because I apparently haven’t learned anything, I actually think, Okay, maybe she’ll stay out for a while this time.
Nope.
A few minutes later, there she is.
Waiting.
Again.
At this point, I’m starting to think she doesn’t actually want to be inside or outside. She just enjoys knowing that I will stop whatever I’m doing and open the door for her.
It’s a power thing.
And the worst part?
She doesn’t even ask politely. There’s no sweet little meow. No grateful look. She just sits there staring at me with that expression cats have perfected.
Well? Are you going to get that?
Yes, Halo.
Apparently I am.
I used to think I was a homeowner. An author. A reasonably independent adult.
Turns out I’m employed by a black-and-white cat whose main hobby is making me open the same door twelve times an hour.
The pay is terrible.
And I don’t even get tips.
Does anyone else spend half their day opening doors for a cat who immediately changes their mind?
All the best,
Tia
