[.He's a Rebel.]

All right,

I've got these problems with Jack. His diet (because he's the largest mini-rex the Vet has EVER seen), is going okay but his attitude is slowly making me want to eat glass shards and possibly use whatever is left over to stick in my eyes. People seem to believe that I am just being hard on my little guy, and that he is actually a sweet little darling angel thing. He is most certainly not. He is just plotty. But nobody believes me.
He does not listen to me.
If you tell him 'get over here, I thought you were about to burst..., and no we are NOT having a snack, because you weigh as much as a Volkswagen.'....
That will not work. He won’t even look at you.
If you clap your hands and say, “Maybe there is a rabbit in the other room, under the bed, that I forgot about! Let’s look together!”, he does not take the bait. And if you try to bend over and pick him up, he let kicks, scratches and squeaks, because JACK IS STARVE, and JACK DOES NOT WANT TO LEAVE FOOD BOX. Food Box is only hope of Jack.
In reality, of course, JACK IS LIE. In fact, JACK IS NOT LOSE ANY WEIGHT AT ALL SINCE DIET START. But he’ll never tell you that, and in the meantime, he’s got me on the horns of a short, brown dilemma, because....I feel so bad. Everytime I come home he's on his tippy toes looking for just a small goldfish cracker, rice chex or corn chip. He has all this hope, and in his big, brown eyes he's saying "lookit mommy! I'm doing the tricks you and daddy taught me". I squash these hopes.
He still marks his territory.
And this "territory" happens to be in the corner of my kitchen behind the kitchen table. Dean and I cannot take our eyes off him for more than 10 minutes without returning to the kitchen to find 50 little poops and a small puddle of pee. It's disgusting. And he needs to run around, I don't want him to be locked inside his cage for hours upon hours. Some days all I want to do is relax and watch a movie, or my favorite tv show, and not worry. But I cannot ignore him.
The one time I ignore Jack will be the one time he has explosive diarrhea someplace inconvenient and novel, like in my hair. And so, every night, I continue to let him out, and he continues to make a beeline for the kitchen table, and I continue to wonder how it is that I so often get outsmarted by a creature who regularly eats his own poop.

And that is why I drink, the end.