It's a survival tactic to rival that of the octopus' ink. At the ripe old age of 4+ months, Xander has mastered it. It's deployed something like this: You're a busy tiger-kitten (at least in your mind) with lots of tiger-y (Tigg-ery?) things to do. One of your staff abruptly picks you up and starts smooching on you and making silly baby sounds. You don't want to bite the hand that feeds you at that particular point in time (tho' that's a valid option many other times) so you deploy a silent but effective weapon designed to make your opponent let you go. That's right, feline flatulence. On command.
People, we need to be aware of this. It's a very real phenomenon. At least in our household. I need to know how pervasive this is. Feel free to comment and share your experiences.
And for those who stuck with me to the end of this post, thank you. Here's a cute picture to try to make up for the content of this post.
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| The culprit...back when he was still little...Is this a yawn, or a laugh??? |
1 comment:
I am thankful that I have no experience with this. Funny that you mention it though because the other day, as my husband and I were wiping our eyes after a particularly lethal amount of greyhound had been expelled, we both commented that we could never remember a time when Twinkie passed gas. Hopefully, Gwyn is not gassy. Freedom and Casper aren't bad, but Nikki passes gas that can make you leave the room.
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