Criss Angel and other Mind games...

I'm back. I left Criss behind in Las Vegas. I know, it's shocking. But it turns out I don't like a man who disappears whenever there are dishes to be washed or kitty litter to be changed.

While we were away, my parents came up to cat-sit Mr. Baz in his own domain. Because you know, he is the master of the house. People should come to him. And so they did. They got a bottle of wine, and Mr. Baz got two suckers who fed him every time he meowed starvation.

By the time we left, I'd already given him two breakfasts and he'd eaten half of the food he was supposed to be saving for the next 24 hours until his babysitters arrived. He is now ready for UFC heavyweight division.

And The Hubs has found him his ultimate fighting competitor. He is obsessed with getting him a live mouse to play with on the patio. He says that it'll be hours of fun until Mr. Baz catches the mouse and then eats him. At this point, Mr. Baz would just have to sit on the mouse and he'd suffocate. But regardless, it's not up for discussion. Mr. Baz is not a python. We're not buying him a live mouse. It's animal cruelty!

But The Hubs won't listen, and last night before bed, as Mr. Baz was snuggling in for a long night's sleep, he whispered into his kitty ear: "Soon we're going to get you a little mouse to play with. Sweet dreams!"

The Hubs may be joking, but Mr. Baz does not realize it's a joke. So now he thinks he's getting a mouse and it's all he can meow about. Meow Mouse Meow Mouse.



Consistent messages! This is what all the parenting books say. You've got to have both parents on the same team. Team No Mouse! Now what are we going to do?