Catitude and a Classy Lady

The cat has been irritable with me today. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I've called her Dashadude or Dashacrap all day instead of her actual name, which is Dash Away. It probably also has nothing to do with the fact that I make kissy noises at her for about 35 hours in a 24-hour day.

And I'm sure it has nothing to do me accidentally smacking her across the room like a baseball with my satchel. (I swear, it was an honest accident. I don't belong in one of those "Animal Cruelty" campaigns with Sarah McLachlan's voice sailing on under the stock footage of sad puppies with goopy eyes and kittens with bald spots.)

I had just returned home from a job interview. I was swinging my bag back and forth like a baby carrier when suddenly instead of air, my bag hit something lumpy and massy. I looked down to see the cat hobbling around with her feet all tangled up and her claws stuck in the carpet. How does somebody even apologize for that?!

I don't know if she's forgiven me, but she certainly got her revenge only moments later. I was in my room when she came up behind me and batted me across the ankle with her claw-ridden paw. I looked down and she was giving me the "COME AT ME BRO" face.

Needless to say, I'm not messing with her. She's a BEAST.

Update: Dashadude has yet to fully forgive me. Frequently, I'll follow her down the hall to fill up her water dish or something. We get to her food area, where I see that her food and water dish are full. It's at this point that Dashacat will act confused, meow for awhile, and then bite my ankle. That foxy lady is flirting with the saying of not biting the hand that feeds you...