The Willy Way

Personally, I love shoes. Whenever my Provider comes come and takes off her shoes, I pounce on them, sniffing and playing with them.
My favorite: her sport shoes, although she claims that they smell. Yeah, that’s the whole idea, stupid!

As we all know, humans have this annoying habit of washing and cleaning themselves, their clothes and their apartments, which makes our job of marking our territory damn difficult.

It seems that most Providers, unlike mine, refuse to lend their felines their footwear for cat entertainment.
Since we cats are quite inventive, we find a way.
Take my fellow feline Willy the Cat.
His fetish: gloves aka handwear.

(For all you kittens out there: the front paws of Humans are called “hands” (very good for stroking cat fur and opening cat food packages and tins) and their back paws are called “feet” (awkward body parts that somehow balance their whole upright bodies – don’t try to figure that one out, must be a design flaw)

Willy lives in place called Pelham, NY, where Humans work in something they call “gardens”. (Just some pieces of land that is great to roll around in, although humans freak out when you do that. If you don't believe me, ask my friend Bundy).
Since humans do not have proper claws, they dig in the soil with metal thingies wearing gloves. Just what Willy likes!
  
He loves to sneak into gardens and carry off those gardening gloves.

Willy’s Providers put his trophies on a clothesline strung across their front fence with the sign:
"Our cat is a glove snatcher. Please take these if yours."

This is quite humiliating of course.
When other humans starting checking this out, Willy pretended not to notice and went on playing with a beetle in the driveway.
Ha! That will serve them right!
What happened to “innocent until proven guilty”?

Obviously, the glove game only works in the summer.
Willy gets his prey during daytime raids, often taking two trips to get a matching pair.
So what is our creative friend going to do during the winter, when humans don’t garden?
He goes for dirty socks from the laundry room.
Let this be a lesson to all felines:
“where there is a will(y), there is way”