This is my little girl, October. She's been protesting Waffle ever since he arrived in May; she used to be my baby. Or, I used to be her human. She's the complete opposite of my macho-cat, Torry. She's extremely loving and needy, a little skittish, and not very brave. Or smart. In fact, if she weren't so adorable, I'm not sure I'd like her.
Herp derp.
She doesn't know how to use her claws; I'm not even sure if she ever has. Mostly they get stuck on the couch or blankets. So, her only defense against Waffle asking her to play is to growl and look barely threatening. Contrast this to Torry, whose defense includes hissing and mauling some faces. Waffle is not a stranger to his paws, and will actually turn his head away when Torry walks by for fear of some random attack. Waffle GLADLY gets in Tober's face, though, because we all know there's no threat behind those big green kitty eyes.
Even though she doesn't spend time with me anymore, I still try to get her attention by calling her name whenever she saunters into the room. This is where I made my mistake. "Tober! Tober! Come here, October!" Every time, without fail.
Now Waffle, he's as smart as a whip. His intelligence may rival Torry's, and Torry is maybe the smartest (and toughest) animal I've had the pleasure of encountering. I just so happen to own him. So to Waffle, Tober is a fun play-thing. All bark, no bite, runs fast, and runs without fail. Chasing is AWESOME, too.
So because Tober is so gosh-darned fun, and I consistently call for her whenever she enters the area, Waffle picked up that "Tober" = the fun cat, which has recently entered the room. Now whenever I call for her, which I inevitably do, he jumps off the couch or stops what he's doing and runs around the room looking for her, then the chase begins. Oy! The pains of having a smart dog, har har har.
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