Unfiltered

Liam and the cat have a thing. Both of them can go from a state of complete rest to full-on tackle--and the cat does it more effectively: he'll be sleeping one moment, and the next he's launched himself up onto the side of Liam's head, or his back, or his leg (if Liam's walking by). Only to Liam.

And for his part, Liam will walk past the cat, calm as can be, and suddenly let out an "Arrrr!" and grab the cat and tickle him, howling like a banshee the entire time.

Sounds bad, but neither hurts the other; both seem to enjoy it. The cat will only sleep with Liam. And Liam frets about the cat's feelings and welfare as if he had another sibling.

Today we were in my Dad's kitchen and I noticed that Liam had a scratch on his cheek near his eye.

"You have to stop putting your face into Keeneye's stomach," I said to him. "He could scratch your eye out."

My father, who can't restrain himself when there's an opportunity to lecture, joined in:

"I keep telling you--that cat's going to take your eye out!"

Liam's lip started trembling, he backed up, and next thing he was screaming at the two of us. "Why are there two of you saying that now!? Keeneye couldn't scratch my eye out!" And off he ran to some remote sofa, sobbing. Oh the drama, I thought, and let him go.

Later I said, "Hey Liam, I'm sorry I made you feel bad. I was just worried when I saw that scratch so close to your eye."

"It wasn't you," he said. "Poppop is always lecturing me. I get so frustrated."

"I know what you mean," I said. "But you can't scream at him--or at me--that way."

"Sometimes," he said, "I just want to be right."

"I know that feeling," I tell him.

"And besides," he says, "Keeneye would be so ashamed of himself if he scratched my eye out."

"Yes, he's a good cat," I say. "Just keep your face away from his claws, OK?"

"OK."