I’m sitting on the porch and the outside kitty comes up and starts weaving back and forth between my ankles wanting to know if I want to rub her head, or scratch her tummy, or idly scratch her under her ears.

The Big Boy comes tearing down out of the woods to chase her off. He doesn’t want his head rubbed, or his tummy scratched, or to be idly scratched under his ears.

He just doesn’t want me to pay attention to that other kitty.

There may be a lesson to be learned right there. Or I may just be projecting my ire onto a dumb animal.

Your choice.