My Cat Isn't the Problem. I Am the Problem.

My cat doesn't have an attitude problem. I have a "leaving things on tables" problem, and he has made correcting me his life's work. Every shattered glass is a lesson. Every paperweight swept off the counter is coursework. Tuition is steep and non-refundable.

The method: phase one, he stares at the object — long, unblinking. Phase two, one paw extends, slow and theatrical, until contact. Phase three, gravity takes over while he holds eye contact. The message: this was preventable, and it's your fault.

Museum putty failed. A stern conversation failed — he yawned so wide I saw his tonsils. I now scan tabletops like a bomb tech. I've been fully trained, and my trainer accepts kibble and chin scratches.