More Proof: Cats Are Jerks

Charlie is a 17 pound, 5 year old cat.  Sam is an 82 pound, 16 year old dog.  Charlie has his own cat-sized bed.  Sam has his own dog-sized bed.  It's big, brown, and Charlie loves it.  No amount of forced relocation has thus far been able to permanently dissuade Charlie from claiming Sam's bed.  Sam, being possessed of the same mildness of the manner in the face of feline unconcern characteristic of all sensible dogs, accepts this situation unquestioningly and lays his arthritic old bones and aching joints down on the unforgiving hardwood while Charles lazes in comfort on his throne.  I mean, on Sam's bed.

Cats get a bad rap, and sometimes they deserve it.  But it's really not their fault when they take advantage of their absolute assurance that the entire world exists for their convenience.  It's written into their DNA, as surely as is their phenomenal balance and impeccable ability to sense when the human has entered the bathroom and could really use some alone time.  In Charlie's tiny little kitty brain, the big brown pouty thing is comfortable and the big black slobbery dog-shaped thing likes to sleep on it, so it only makes sense that this is the best place in the house to be.  

I've given up on any semblance of consistency when it comes to kicking Charlie off Sam's bed.  If Sam seems restless and in need of a soft spot to rest, then Charlie's gotta go.  But otherwise, I have come to recognize a futile fight when I see one.  I'll walk over to the bed and look down at Charlie.  Charlie will look up at me with a slight glint of curiosity in his eyes, as if he believes I won't do anything but he can't completely rule it out.  He's trained me well, though, so usually I'll just shuffle off and let things stay the way nature intended.  The cat in the place of honor, the dog sprawled clumsily somewhere nearby, and the human admitting she is powerless before their combined furry cuteness.