Spic 'N' Span

The human pet is coming back tomorrow, and as is the tradition in The House, Isis and I dutifully clean every room from top to bottom to insure that the pet is greeted in the manner to which she is accustomed. What happens more often than not, though, is utter and complete mayhem. Typically said mayhem is definitely not my fault since I am known for being an instigator. You see, I'm having some problems having Isis cooperate. She simply has taken it upon herself to become the diva of her own personal world. She may think she is helping, but she is not.

When I woke up this morning, I sauntered into the kitchen, groggy-eyed and lifeless. As I knelt over my morning water, lapping the sweet nectar, I could hear rustlings of mischief coming from just behind me in the sink. I hadn't wanted to turn around for I knew that the moment I did, my blood would ignite on fire. I tried to ignore it, continuing to focus on the cool, crisp water, but with every Scrriittttch! and Squeaaaaak! my fur pricked a bit more until my entire body was one big poofball of anxiety.

Gingerly (no pun intended), I turned around, and I could not help but raise one eyebrow to indicate my perplexed thoughts. There was Isis, hovering over the plates in the sink, running her claws over a dinner plate caked with dried spaghetti sauce and bits of cooked beef. With every swipe of her claws, she would bring her talons to her lips and lick them clean with delightful moaning sounds.

Just as she was about to continue in this repetitious nails-on-chalkboard routine, I said, "Granted, I should know better than to ask, but what are you doing?"

"I'm washing the dishes," she replied as if it should be quite obvious to any and all who observed her.

"You see that device over there?" I pointed to the machine known as Maytag. "It's what the pet uses to clean the dishes. My instincts tell me that the pet isn't going to want to eat off of dishes that you quote unquote 'washed'."

"Well, if she wanted me to wash them her way, she should have given me some opposable thumbs to work with. She'll just take it and like it." Isis returned to her scavenger hunt of remnant food goodness.

"Isis, if you're going to do a job, you might as well do it the proper way. Why would you want to do something wrong the first time only to end up doing it again later?" If I could have propped my paws on my hips, I would have right at that moment.

"I'm sorry, but who is the fatty who slept in until noon only to come out and lecture me now? Hmm...wait. It's coming to me. Let me think: Zoolander? Zelda? Oh no, wait! Zeus!" She cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips at me as her tail wagged bitchily behind her as if to say 'That's two snaps around the world' worthy.

I turned to walk away since I knew that would indicate I was the bigger cat to her. As I did, however, I noted the fresh hazy marks of pawprints on the pet's glass dining table. Padding over for a closer look, I leapt onto a chair and stuck my nose to the prints from underneath the glass, narrowing my eyes and sniffing inquisitively. Definitely the work of Isis.

From the dining room, I asked, "And you call this helping the pet as well? Leaving a trail of pawprints all over her dining room table?"

"Excuse me, Zeustard, but I was rearranging the centerpiece you knocked over last night."

"I knocked over?"

"Don't act like it was me, Zeusaslut. You chased me all over the house and forced me against my will to jump onto the table and knock over all the candles!" Her tail swung even faster to and fro, and I could feel my hairs prickling with the sensation of whoop ass.

"I dare you to call me one more thing, Isis. One. More. Thing. Why don't you let me handle the cleaning while you get cranked out on nip since that's the only thing you're good at?"

"MeooooooooooOOOW!"

The next thing I know the two of us were tumbling and wrestling on the dining room floor. There were flashes of canines, tufts of fur flying, and the screeching cries of agony. I suspect to the casual observer we looked more like a ginger and silver tumbleweed, bouncing along the western trail with the rise and fall of the desert wind.

If The House ever gets cleaned in time for the human pet, it will be a miracle. By chance, does anyone know the phone number for Merry Maids?