SANTA, I CAN EXPLAIN ABOUT…
Poking my cat brother vigorously with my nose was not with bad intentions. He is all furry and soft. I thought he was a new squeak toy. How was I supposed to know that the eerie screech coming out of him was not a new toy sound?
Shredding every chew toy to little pieces in record time is my job. Isn’t that what chew toys are for? I know mom is proud of having the best toy destroyer on the block.
Regarding my big brother’s sandals which a tore into a pile of unrecognizable rubber; I thought he left them in the middle of the living room for me. They looked like a chew toy and they smelled like a cheesy flavored chew toy.
Growling and barking ferociously and pinning back mom’s friends is my job. I have to protect her. How was I supposed to know they were her friends and she had invited them.
Not wanting to take a bath; that rainy room is very scary. You get trapped in this little room and water starts to pour out of the ceiling. The rain pours over your eyes so you can’t see and over your ears so you hear funny. Have you ever been in the scary rainy room? Not fun! We won’t even mention the hot hurricane wind that comes afterward.
Making mom carry me through the downpours of Hurricane Sandy was not my fault. I got scared of the loud noise and blowing stuff everywhere. Plus mom made me wear her sweatshirt which made me look like a geek. But mainly, I was a freidy cat. Please don’t tell my cat brother.
Pulling like a Trojan horse when leashed is actually good for mom. It helps her exercise and works out her arm muscles. I care lots about mom’s health.
Knocking mom’s coffee off the counter and all over her and the kitchen floor was a total accident. You see, I get so excited when I see mom fix a cup of coffee because it means we get to go sit together on the deck while she drinks it.
Chasing the cute bunnies in our yard is just too tempting. They want to play with me. They freeze and stare at me and chant “You can’t get me!” I’m just playing with them. I think humans call it tag.
Eating my sister’s book; it was my turn to read it. My sister had read it, then mom read it, then my big brother read it and left it on the dining room table for me to dog-read it. I didn’t know you don’t chew on your books while you read them. I know now.
The humongous on her side of the bed? Okay, not cool. I was mad. But I did apologize many times over. I promise I won’t do THAT again.