Anybody who knows me will tell you the same thing: I get what I want. Whether it’s food, being held, my binky, you name it—if I decide I’d like it, you damn well better believe I don’t rest until I get it, one way or another. And from the very second I saw those blue and red detergent pods come out of that shopping bag last week, I knew immediately that, come hell or high water, I would eat one of those things.
So with God as my witness, I swear to you: I’m going to find that container of multicolored pods, I’m going to take one out, I’m going to shove it in my mouth, and I’m going to chew it up and swallow it down, and nothing and no one is going to stand in my way.
You can’t be expected to keep an eye on me 24/7, and of course, you have to sleep at some point.
Oh, but please don’t let me stop you—by all means, go and hide those delicious-looking little pods wherever you think they’ll be safe from me. You can put them on a high shelf or in the back of a cabinet, or even out in the garage; it makes no difference to me. You can tell me over and over again that they’re not food, but just know that the moment I get my little fist around one, it’s food now.
If we’re being frank, though, you might as well just set a whole tub of those things down right inside my playpen. Or hell, just place one directly into my mouth, because guess what? That’s exactly where it’s going to end up sooner or later anyway.
But I know you people well enough by now to understand you’d never give in that easily, despite the complete futility of it. No matter how hard you try to play this pointless little game of keep-away, it’s not going to change a thing. Mark my words: One of these days, you’re going to badly underestimate me. “Oh,” you’ll say, “he can only really walk a couple steps at a time.” Or, “Oh, he’s only got four teeth.” Or, “Oh, we were able to stop him right before he drank that bright-colored antifreeze that one time, so this will be easy.” Please! Without even knowing it, you’re playing right into my hands! Because the instant you let your guard down for even a split second—BOOM!—it’s a detergent pod right down the hatch.
And you will let your guard down. You’re being pulled in so many different directions—cooking dinner, running errands, making phone calls—whereas I’ve only got one thing on my mind: those big, beautiful pods. You’re so very busy, aren’t you? You can’t be expected to keep an eye on me 24/7, and of course, you have to sleep at some point. Bingo! That’s prime detergent-eating time!
You see, every single time you look away is another chance for me to cram as many of those colorful little things as I can into my mouth. And it’s during any of these moments, when you’re occupied by one of a million little daily distractions, that you’ll look down and I’ll be forearm-deep in the tub of pods with a whole slick of blue goo all over my chubby face.
You know, in some ways, I even enjoy our little chess match, even though I already know the sticky, satisfying outcome.
So allow me to reiterate: This is 100 percent going to happen. The sealed plastic bucket that holds the detergent pods is a welcome challenge to me. I’ll make short work of the lid and the inner zip-lock bag, and then all that stands between me and slurping down that glorious, vibrant liquid is a thin film of rapidly dissolving plastic that will melt away on my tongue like so much dust scattered by the wind. And at last, I will have what I want more than anything in this world.
Then, and only then, will I finally be free to eat out of the cat box.