Watson Monday

I have a wee bit of Watson, or as a friend calls him "perma toddler", for your Monday. My naughty, so spoiled, fat cat who is a 3 year old trapped in a cat's body. He also clearly owns me and everything I do. Here's the proof.

I get home from work late at night, after everyone else is sound asleep. Watson is typically the only one who greets me and, like a toddler, he is very happy to see that Mama has returned from the longest trip away ever. He greets me at the door with sleepy eyes and a purr that I'm sure would wake the dead. I have my routine with Watson following along as my shadow, telling me about his day. When I go into the bathroom Fat Cat joins me so we can have our nightly discussion of how disappointed he is that I left him for more than 2 minutes and how he thought I would never, ever come back. 

A few nights ago, after coming home and going into the bathroom, Watson became quiet. As any mother of toddlers will tell you, that's always a scary sign of something going on that you don't want to know about but as an adult you know that you should investigate. I turned off my music and heard scratching in the tub...

Yes, I realize I asked a cat a question. My family points this out to me numerous times a week day. But, in my defense, he answers me. Every time. And if you're thinking I'm crazy for defending my conversations with a cat...well...look at the top of the page. You ain't gonna get anything normal from this blog. 

Then there's the only time you will find Watson actually quiet. When he's watching TV. Certain commercials and animated shows really capture his attention. 

If a video of Fat Cat watching TV wasn't enough, I also give you this picture of him doing the same. Because who can get enough of this guy? 

This next picture is of a board over my scrapbook table in my office. Watson frequently lays across it and reaches his paw out toward my head and bats at me while I'm sitting there. Apparently just looking at me from the top of it is not good enough because he always sticks his head down behind the board like this.

The result of his batting at me...

He pulled my hair completely out of the bun it was in. This is what I get for neglecting him. 

Hubby made a Watson Compromise for Fat Cat after I complained that he wouldn't stop reaching out and playing with my hair when I'm working on something. His solution: a bed, right over my table, where Watson can watch me but can't touch me. This is now the corner of the board in the above picture: 

This is my view when I'm at the table. He's directly above me on his blankets, which cover a pillow. His spot is comfier than the chair I'm sitting in right now. Spoiled.