|Please ignore the well-past-the-date Christmas wrap in the background.|
I found it this weekend while shoveling out The Girl's room.
She is my husband's cat. She chooses him over and over and over again to sleep upon (although she has chosen me on occasion, I feel so honored), and he is the Only person in the house who can walk up and pet her without her running away.
However, he is also her "toy" of choice. She will attack him with... and without... provocation.
Yep, enough of the petting... she's getting ready...
The Hubs knows what's coming...
He even tried walking away before SHE was done, and she ran down the table she was on and lashed out at him. So he "fought" her for a while.
And even though she was tired and laying down, she still wasn't done.
When she was, she walked away, curled up on my sweater and started cleaning herself.
Fighting daddy is hard, dirty work!