I have raised a juvenile delinquent.

Mike turned 16 on Thursday. Thursday evening he asked me if he could take my car out for a drive. I told him no, because cats aren't allowed to drive. He whined, "But I'm 16!". I said, "I know Mike, but you're a cat, and cats are not allowed to drive". He pouted a bit, but seemed to get over it. Then Friday night, he asked again. Again, I had to tell him that he was a cat, and cats are not allowed to drive.

Early this morning, at 3:47am, there was a knock on my front door. "Jehovah's Witnesses at this hour?", I said to Gus. I opened the door and much to my surprise, it was a police officer holding Mike by his scruff. He said, "This your cat ma'am?" I tried to say, "Why no Mr. Officer, I've never seen that cat before in my entire life", but instead out came the words, "Yes, he's my cat". The officer proceeded to tell me that he was caught driving my car, and as we all know, cats are not allowed to drive. He also informed me that 22 other cats were in the car when he pulled Mike over, and that they made a bit of a mess. A bit of a mess? You should see my car! Catnip and cat puke is EVERYWHERE.

I just don't know what to do with that boy. I feed him, clean up after him, and provide a face for him to sleep on at night. This is the thanks I get.