Chapter Ten
Purposefully Difficult
John considered his toast as he sat at their kitchen table (miraculously clean, for once).
"What do cats do?" he mused out loud.
"What?" Sherlock muttered, not looking up from where he was bent over a microscope on the other side of the table (semi-clean, at least).
"You know; dogs get walked, what do cats do?"
"Laze around, mostly."
"Right."
Sherlock deigned to look up.
"From what research I've done, it seems they lie around, eat and sleep. As well as other necessary functions, of course. This is because most owners view adult cats as independent and low maintenance[1]. However, this is untrue, and cats need to be played with to develop both physically and mentally."
John stared.
"You do know you didn't need to recite a website to me, don't you?"
"Well if I'm going to do something, I might as well do it properly."
Fair enough.
"So…what do they do?"
"Games and such; generally chasing a harmless object like a feather, some string or occasionally a light."
"Do they do anything outside?"
"Some of the more well-trained cats will go for a walk, but it's unusual to see and the majority of cats won't enjoy it."
"Right."
John stared some more, then asked a carefully phrased question that would hopefully allow him an answer without piles of unwanted information.
"Is there anything that we can do outside, with you as Thunder and me as a human being, that isn't ridiculous and will show people that I own a pet and am capable of caring for it?"
"Not really."
"Right."
"Just put something in your blog about how entertaining it is to watch a cat chase after a light and get frustrated at not being able to catch it."
"Yeah, I'll do that, thanks."
Why couldn't you have just said that?
"Really John, must you take the joy out of everything?"
John pointed a finger at him.
"I knew it! I knew you enjoyed being difficult!"
Sherlock blinked.
"Of course, John, you have seen me at crime scenes before, haven't you? I even told you I pickpocket Lestrade when he's being annoying. Honestly, you're on terrible form today."
Honestly, you're on terrible form today, John mimicked in his head. From the amused glance Sherlock gave him over his microscope, he knew exactly what had just passed through John's head. John scowled and returned to eating his (now cold) toast.
Seconds after Sherlock dropped his head again to stare down the barrel of his microscope, a ballpoint pen bounced off his head. Sherlock rolled his eyes and muttered, "How mature of you."
Hidden behind his tea, John smiled.
[1] I took this from a website: .ca/cats/tips/tip-65-cat-games-playing-with-your-cat/. ::shrug::