The Hungry Strikes Back

Another note from Oliver:

The other day, I told you about how I brought about continued breakfasts by using a negotiation tool – the hungry strike. You might not know this, but my Girl is smart. After seeing me use this tool just once, my Girl turned it around on me!

Afternoon nap time was over and my Girl, I found, was in the out, spraying water on the ground. I don’t know what the ground outside did to make my Girl angry, but it gets punished with water spritzing at least once a day. Especially the ground she put in pots. It was super naughty.

While Obi and I were supervising, The Boy came up the sidewalk. He goes away every morning, and he must not be as smart as my Girl because it takes him ALL DAY to find his way back. Obi says I’m wrong – The Boy is just as smart but he goes on bigger adventures. After all, The Boy is safe inside the house with far less supervision. I say that is because my Girl is more precious. Anyway…

My Girl and The Boy discussed the naughty dirt for a while. Then they came inside. Obi got a belly rub while I took off my Girl’s shoes. Then she went to the fridge, pulled out two bottles, and she and The Boy went BACK outside. The Boy sat outside on the porch, right by the window by our condo. My girl was out there somewhere as well; I couldn’t see her but I could hear her.

So Obi and I supervised through the screen. I waited patiently, figuring they must need to discuss something important. Surely she would return for our evening snuggle as quickly as she could. But the conversation seemed normal. And then The Boy came in and got two more bottles from the fridge.

Enough was enough.

“Girl!” I called. “Get in!”

“What?” The Boy said. I can tell when he does this that he thinks he’s imitating the authority in my voice, but from him it sounds kind of whiney.

“Girl! In!”

“Oliver,” she said, “will you go make our pizza?”

“In! Now!”

“Seriously, Oli. I think I’m going to go on a hungry strike. No snuggles until I’ve had my pizza.”

Hmm, sneaky Girl.

The Boy chimed in: “what would you put on our pizza, Oli?”

“Tuna,” I replied thoughtfully as my mind raced to put a paw on the right countermove. Obi had arrived next to me and chimed in, “cheese.” I rolled my eyes and toothed his ear. I would never put cheese on a pizza. I hate cheese. I only eat it because I’m alpha food cat so I have to eat the stupid things they put out for Obi. Cheese. Gross.

“Cheese would be good on a pizza, Baby,” my Girl said to Obi. “TUNA,” I repeated, louder so she’d hear me this time.

The Boy and my Girl changed the subject again. I waited patiently for them to get back to the subject at paw. Eventually, I had to repeat my demands. “In. In. In.”

“Is my pizza done?” my Girl asked. I heard her sigh. “My beer is gone. I guess we have to make our own dang pizza.”

And then The Boy and my Girl were inside. I watched hopefully while they cooked the pizza – pepperoni…olives…and…cheese. Oy.

I guess you can’t blame them for sour grapes – they put up a tough negotiation but Oliver will always win in the end. And seal the deal with a snuggle.

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