He obviously did not read the directions or the marketing commentary, because he ran in the other direction.
I must be cruel, only to be kind: Thus bad begins and worse remains behind.
I’m trying to outsmart him with what is good for him. I squeeze an inch-long ribbon from the tube and put it on my right hand, and casually sit near Fala on the couch. I rest my hand near him. I unobtrusively move it closer and closer until under his nose. Fala smells the fragrant malt flavor and licks it off.
Fala thought it was his idea, so it worked several times.
Last night while attempting to seduce Fala into my little melodrama, the phone rang, and it was for me.
Do I “ungoo” and waste a batch?
Or do I sit at my desk and talk on the phone with this glob of gunk smeared all over my hand?
When I find myself in one of my self-imposed “I Love Lucy” situations, I must say, “Look at yourself, woman. You are a grown-up, and you are trying to entice a dumb animal to take his medication. Just grab him and shove it down his throat.”
Alas, anyone who has been owned by a cat knows this is easier said than done.
Amy McVay Abbott is a freelance journalist and author of “The Luxury of Daydreams.” She can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.