"Oh Alex!"

When I first heard the humans say, 'Oh Alex', I assumed it was a term of respect. My instincts tell me that my ancestors, in another place, were worshipped in a way that really doesn't seem to happen these days. Perhaps, I thought, 'O Alex' was a way of letting me know that I was revered, that they were thankful I had made my home amongst them.

Unfortunately, I soon realised that it's a term of frustration rather than of adoration. The humans seem to think that the house is theirs, and that they can decide where we may and may not go. This is not very intelligent of them; clearly we can (and do) go wherever we wish when they are not looking. Unless a door is shut, of course. We have yet to unravel the mysteries of door handles.

But when one of them is in the kitchen, they don't like us going on the work surfaces - even when they've put something new and exciting there, something that evidently requires some exploration:

'Oh Alex!' is then said, with a sigh. Sometimes they pick up the silvery flashing box thing, but not always. Mostly they just grab hold of me and put me back on the floor.  I am attempting to show them how undignified this is by turning my back and having a good wash, but they don't seem to notice.

They don't like me going in the kitchen sink, either. This is mystifying because the water for our dishes comes out of a metal spout in the sink. You would think it would save them time and effort if they just left the water running constantly, so we could help ourselves: 

However, humans are quite stuck in their ways. We have to humour them.  

Not that it always helps. A couple of days ago, they put one of those wonderful things called 'pitta bread' in a plastic bag, on the work surface. I love pitta bread. The humans seem to find this surprising, and expect us only to like meat and cheese and yogurt. But I think most human food is worth trying, and pitta bread is one of my favourites.

They left the kitchen, and Joan and I jumped up on the work surface to get at the pitta bread. It's easy to scratch our way into the bag, and we were just about to get started when I remembered that the humans really don't like it when we eat anywhere other than the floor. 

So, not wanting to cause any distress, I pulled the bag onto the floor. It was easier for us then anyway; no worries about falling backwards off the work surface, and we had fun pulling the bag apart, and starting to eat the pitta inside. 

Unfortunately we got a bit carried away, and it made quite a bit of noise, so the female human came to see what was going on.

That was a major 'Oh Alex!' moment. 

I still don't know why she was so annoyed.