Somebody has to pay.

Today, the full staff of KnowSocial, LLC returned to work. Oliver was laying in the condo. The Girl was at the desk, social media-ing away. Obi was stretched out across the desk with his butt on the mousepad. Ah, the good life.

Obi stretched, at some point this afternoon, and exposed his belly. I didn’t think anything about it before I reached over and gitchy gitchied his stomach. Evidently he did not think this was appropriate. Lucky for me he didn’t quite connect the gitchy to the gitchier.

First he slapped Oliver in the face. “Stop gitchying me!”

The gitchy didn’t stop.

Second, he rolled to the other side and attacked my book, Star Wars: Children of the Jedi, which was next to him. “Stop gitchying me!”

The gitchy didn’t stop.

He rolled to the other side and slapped Oliver again. “Stop gitchying me!”

The gitchy didn’t stop.

Finally he noticed that my had was the source of the gitchy. He bit me. Then he kissed me. Then he bit me. Then he kissed me. Then he decided…

The gitchy wasn’t so bad after all.

Nap on.

***

So. The Boy and I have decided that Oliver is uber annoying. Now that we’ve moved to the basement to avoid the heat, Mr. Bear moves between the first floor and the bottom floor several times a day. With each move there comes narration from the grey kitten. “MR. BEAR IS ON THE FIRST STEP. WE’VE MOVED TWO STEPS. HE IS ON THE LAST STEP. MR. BEAR IS IN THE BASEMENT. HE’S COMING DOWN THE HALLWAY. HE WANTS TO KNOW HOW TO GET ONTO THE LAYOUT. NEVERMIND, HE’LL GO INTO THE WORKSHOP. HE’S IN FRONT OF YOU. HE NEEDS TO BE KNEADED.”

Drastic steps need to be taken. Tomorrow, when we will both be home to monitor Oliver’s sanity, Mr. Bear is going to hide in a closet. Hopefully Oli won’t notice. If he doesn’t lose his mind looking for his lost friend, Oli’s Mr. Bear may be moving away permanently.

The whole house, including Obi, would be grateful.

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Oh, how he suffers.

The Boy is gone on a trip right now. It has been 36 hours since Obi has had a proper belly rubbing. And, oh, how he suffers.

And thus, how we all suffer.

This morning Oliver and I were laying on the couch like we always do in the morning. About the time The Boy should have been making my coffee, Obi walked to the middle of the room and plopped down.

“ME!” He yelled.

You see, usually my coffee delivery is postponed because Obi convinces The Boy it is time for the belly rub. Obi runs out to the rug and gets into position, belly exposed, and The Boy comes in and works his magic. They pet and roll and brush and purr. Then I get my coffee.

This morning there was no Boy. There was also no coffee but you don’t see me throwing myself to the ground in a tizzy, now do you? Of course…how would you know if I had? But I DIDN’T.

I’ve done my best to fill in. The problem is that I am The Girl. And The Girl is good for playing and comforting. Those are my jobs. So when I rub the belly it turns into The Claw with biting and scratching and kicking (and kisses to assure me that we’re still playing).

We did manage to get one brush full of hair removed from his coat. We feel pretty good about that.

Tomorrow, though, The Boy will be coming home to three happy mammals. Obi will get his belly rubber back. I will no longer be in charge of the belly rubbing. And Oliver’s snuggles will not be interrupted again.

Zensai, as always, really couldn’t be convinced to care less.

***

It’s Thunder Thursday! On Tuesday, Cousin Puck’s girl sent me a picture of her poor, miserable fuzzy. Puck is a prime example of Feline Heat Index: Too Hot.

"Set the A/C on frosty, please."