In Which Hobbes is No Fool.

This morning the usual routine was turned on its ear when Hobbes was doing his usual survey of the estate out the front window before wandering over for his morning lap-nap during coffee.

Grrr had taken the opportunity and got there first.



Her position in the hierarchy (Queen of the Pride) taken into account, that should have been an end to it, but no. The Old Man is far too crafty for this to stand.

A little backstory, the short version of which is that Hobbes has genetically poor teeth, something we have had to keep up with. He has needed enough removed such that he eats canned "wet-food" for the majority of his diet. The routine is that he'll eat his fill, then both Grrr and Caledonia are more than happy to ensure the plate is clean.

Back to the tale at hand, Hobbes noticed Grrr and decided this nonsense wasn't going to stand, queen or no. He jumped up on the side table, looked at me (I'd have loved it if he had winked at me!) gave out his "Feed me, please" bleat, hopped off the table and chopped off into the kitchen. Grrr woke up immediately and hopped down to follow with great interest.

Meanwhile, Hobbes had quietly circled around through the back hallway and out to the front room again, hopped up and settled in his usual morning place looking quite pleased with himself...



...gave Grrr the look that said, "Well, you jumped down by your decision; not anything I did!" and proceeded with his usual nap (well-earned this time).




You don't get on in a pride of all women without more than a bit of guile.