PLOP THE CAT TOY

It's a nightly ritual now with my cat Morgan. 

I've two critters who inhabit my planet -- my darling female cat Merlin and her cohort Morgan, who is a full decade younger and outweighs her by as many pounds.

Morgan looks like a stuffed animal, albeit a very, very big and heavy one. 

That said, over the last few weeks he has developed a new "thing" involving an emerald green fuzzy toy that he has claimed as his own.

Seconds after I turn in for the night, it begins: endless racing about my house coupled with loud yowling noises. I recognize this as his attempt to get me to play with him, but of course, I do not comply.

About five minutes into the game, he will show up at the foot of the bed, toting the green toy and of course, more yowling. 

Then comes plop, the cat toy. Plop the cat toy. Sing that to "Rock the Casbah," and you get the general drift.

Of course, I ignore, ignore, ignore, And eventually it stops.

But not before I have that blasted song in my head yet again.

Plop the cat toy, plop the cat toy. 


Look at those eyes, though, and tell me you would not have trouble resisting.

Amen, and pass the ear plugs.