A Hobbes Story: Scratchy Scratchy

Last year, after Jete´ died, I bought Hobbes a scratch pad because he was scratching everything in sight. The scratch pad is meant to hang from a door handle and, at first, he wanted nothing to do with it.   But when I put it on the floor, the boy fell in love and that scratch pad is now his very favorite thing on the planet.

He not only scratches that thing, he plays with it, he cuddles with it, he practically makes love to the thing.

A couple weeks ago, I hung it up while I was vacuuming and forgot to take it back down. That night, I awoke to the sound of a cat making the most horrendous sounds you could ever imagine a cat could make. These sounds were worse than a female cat in heat. They sounded like he must be dying some horrid death, like it was the end of the world and Hobbes was keening its very end. Turns out, he was upset he couldn't get to his beloved scratch pad.

Then the other day, I was getting dressed and dropped my skirt on top of the scratch pad. Not 15 seconds passed before Hobbes ran over in a panic meowing about the end of the world yet again. You guessed it. He was upset I'd covered his favorite thing. I moved my skirt and he instantly laid on top on the thing, I assume to protect it from further capture or assault.

Again, special needs child, that one.