But wait...order now and we'll double the offer!
We'll send you not one, not two, but three cat scratching posts.
But wait! there's more!
Call in the next 5 minutes and we'll throw in a litter box, cat food, and your
own personal veterinarian.
All this for not $10.99, not $9.99, not even $8.99, but $7.99!
Call 1-800-blah blah blah, blah blah.
Who in their right mind would actually call this happy infomercial guy and order this at 3 a.m.
in the morning?
Three days later, FedEx delivered my order.
There it was, a big brown box that took scissors, a knife, a letter opener, a can opener, and
my fist to get it open!
Jake, Mr. C, and Pierre observed carefully from the distance.
Mickey took off, afraid I was coming after him with all the tools it took to open one cardboard box.
The girls hung out on the steps watching me - nothing better to do.
I pulled out one, (with MORE wrapping around it) two, three posts, and set them in the middle of the living room.
They looked like Christmas tree poles, only with beige carpeting on them.
I was eager to see the kids try out the new scratching toys.
"Here, look," I said, scratching my nails on the post...."this is where you scratch and sharpen your claws, not
the couch...See?"
Mr. C strolled over with Pierre and sniffed the wrapping, then sniffed each other.
I picked up Jake and set him down near the post to demonstrate to the others.
They didn't really need a demonstration, but I didn't feel like playing sniff games,
so with Jake's paws in my hands, I started clawing the post.
He starts purring like I'm ready to cuddle with him.
"For Jake's sake everyone, pay attention!"
So again, I made Jake the puppet, and again, he goes crazy with love and tries to break free to sit on my lap.
"Jake - guys - look, I'm trying to teach you to tear up the posts, not my couch. Now stop playing dumb."
Mr. C went to the food dish and crunched his way to oblivion.
"What are you looking at?" I asked April and Midnight, still staring at me from the steps.
'Not much.' April yawned.
'Just wondering why you fell for that infomercial, you know we felines
would much rather tear up the furniture. Get your money back.'
Midnight agreed. 'Next time, order the one with the ladders, nooks and toys,
or even the Sweetheart Scratcher.
You have to start thinking like a cat, walking like a cat, living like a cat.'
So there I sat, in the middle of the living room, boxed out by the wrappings and posts,
boxed in with a 23 lb. Jake purring on my lap.
He was giving me a hot flash.
I sighed. It was hard enough getting it OUT of the box, imagine getting it back IN?
Forget it, I'm not sending it back. So I lose $7.99 plus shipping and handling. I'll have to eat it.
Jake stops purring and looks up at me...did you say EAT?
I looked at my couch, sides clawed to eternity.
Pierre rubbed up against each post, knocking them over,
then put his claws to work on my couch as if fighting Manny or Tyson.
I didn't even argue.
Instead, I visualized him clawing that happy infomercial guy
who promised me at 3 in the morning my cats would never again ruin my furniture.
