At the advice of a friend, I procured a water-spraying device to better discipline my cats. I was told that traditional methods of punishment like yelling at the top of your lungs or sitting on the kitchen floor, weeping, are often ineffectual with cats. Spraying water (accompanied by a sharp tone) will teach the cat a lesson and, because the water seems to be coming from an unknown, "godlike" source the cat will not attribute the action to you. (this helps you conveniently circumvent resentment - one of the chief elements in the makeup of the feline personality.)

Not realizing "water-spraying device" actually means a small spray bottle or the like, I immediately ran out and purchased a gigantic hot pink Super Soaker knock-off at the local Pakistani-managed We Are Having Everything Please variety store. This gun holds one metric ton of water and can knock a coked-up terrorist unconscious from 50 feet, but it can't keep Ble (who, as of this writing, weighs approximately 18 ounces soaking wet) from walking on my computer keyboardtttttttt]['. (see?)

There is nothing more demeaning and doubt-raising than catching this reflection in the bathroom mirror – a thirty year-old man, out of breath, dressed in a bathrobe and armed with a two-foot long fuchsia squirt gun.