Pink, I'm sorry

Pink, I'm sorry.
For being out of diving distance when Connor walked over and slammed you in the head with his jack in the box today. You have to understand that he didn't mean it really, but I know you don't, since you haven't clued in that every time you come into the living room some form of torture awaits you, but you still insist on coming back in when the baby is in there. Time and time again. I thought this might be because I was in the living room and you were trying to get to me, starved for attention as you are. I know this isn't the case however, as I will frequently have to go in and remove you from the living room when I'm in the kitchen washing dishes and hear your distress howl, because Connor has you cornered.

It must not be easy to have a brain the size of a walnut.

I'm also sorry for yelling at you last night, when you were jumping up and down on the bed on all fours making a very un-cat-like noise. I didn't realize that you had jumped up on the bed and landed with your paws directly on a disgarded Thermo-care heat wrap and had the tape stuck to your foot. I thought you were just randomly freaking out. My bad.

You take a lot of crap and for that we are thankful. I know it must be hard for you, not being the boss of your humans anymore, but hopefully, we make up for this, by rescuing you from the child when you cry in distress, since you don't have the brain capacity to only come into the den once he's asleep at night. Tomorrow, I'll give you a can.