Raising Elvis

I try to raise him right. Give him good manners and morals. Good food (he demands to eat whatever we are eating), a nice house-er-cage (Graceland), love and affection and I wake up this morning to hear "YOU'RE A BRAT! BRAT! BRAT BRAT! HEY BRAT! Come 'mere."

Then he clucks like a chicken. . . "Buc, Buc, Buc, BaGawwwk!"

I've been trying to teach him "I love you" for years but he seems to have an aversion to expressing affection. He also refuses to say "thank you."

And he's no snitch either. Although he calls each of the dogs by name, (then laughs when they come running, "heh, heh, heh") he refuses to tell me who tore up the garbage and spread it all over the floor last night. He had to see it, most was right in front of Graceland.

And he calls me a Brat!

And then as I'm sweeping up the mess-he laughs, which is more like the cackle from the wicked witch of the west. Sometimes I feel like he thinks I'm the slave in this relationship and sometimes I'm afraid he may be right.