My friends and family joke often that Bastas and I have an emotionally abusive relationship. To quote my best friend, "If you had a boyfriend that treats you the way Bast does, I would be staging an intervention." This morning was a good example of the sort of emotional blackmail of living with Bast.
Every morning, I like to wake up a few minutes early so I can fire up the Keurig, have a cup of overpriced coffee, and read the latest news. Bast accepts this part of my routine with impatience, since he wants a chance to go outside and frustrate me by not paying attention when I call him. This morning, he was unusually insistent that I take him out, but I foolishly ignored him and told him to let me enjoy my coffee.
I did enjoy my coffee. I did not enjoy the turd he dropped in the other room while I wasn't paying attention.
Okay, well, my bad. He told me he needed to go out, I ignored him, so this one was on me. I went to clean up his leavings and caught him staring at me from the corner of my eye. I turned, irritated, and asked, "What, Bast?" He scooted forward and placed something on the floor beside me. I picked it up, curious, and saw that it was a glove. Bastas loves gloves, so I wasn't too shocked to see him with one, but upon further inspection, I realized this was THE glove - his most coveted glove that he stole from me last autumn and has been hoarding ever since. I've been making do with one frozen hand shoved in my pocket to escape the cold since he bogarted the mate and stashed it somewhere so hidden, I had yet to find it.
I frowned at the glove, the looked at Bast. He swayed his tail in a slow arc with his ears down, as if to say, "Here's that thing you wanted. Sorry I shit in your bedroom." I smiled, ruffled his fur, and we suited up to go outside.
However, since the cosmic scale had apparently been balanced by his unusually kind gesture, all bets were off and he streaked around like a maniac, refusing to listen to me or come when I called in the park. I was able to distract and calm him for a while as we're relearning how to "stay". While in the course of opening the bag of rewards, however, I dropped THE glove. Bast darted in, a giant black mamba, snatched the glove and tore off like his ass was on fire.
Now, I am stupid in some areas, but I learned quickly with Bast not to chase him unless we're playing - he is much faster than I could ever be, and chase is one of his favorite games. Chasing him just results in me panting along behind him, furious and impotent while he darts around with wicked glee. So, I dropped back from him and watched him streak off with my glove, pacing with care with his eyes on the ground. I knew what was coming - it's what happens to every single glove he finds:
He was going to bury it.
And he did.
And I just watched as my newly discovered glove disappeared under a mound of fresh earth.
After he was done, I approached the mound of dirt, scraped around with my boot a bit until I found it, and shook it out. It was, of course, filthy - caked in dog slobber with a good bit of dirt now ground into its fabric. Bast stood a few feet away, watching with a sullen sulk as I raided his horde. I shook the filthy glove at him and shrieked in triumph, "I GOT A GLOVE OF DIIIIIRRRTTTTT!"
Although I can't wear the glove still, I count this morning as a draw.