It's no secret -- I have cats. Lots of cats. Well, ok, several. Some days with cats are hilarious. Others, cuddly. On many days, there are naps that last for hours, followed by ... more naps. Now and then, there's calmness and quiet contemplation.
Yesterday was not one of those days. Yesterday was more like that final scene in Lord of the Flies.
Getting in the middle of a fight between three brothers is rarely a good idea.
If it's three people, even if you don't get clobbered by an errant elbow, each will expect you to take their side, and two people are going to be ticked off at you no matter what you do.
If it's three dogs, big and strong, with mouthfuls of werewolf-like teeth, you may end up in a morgue drawer, just like on CSI.
With three cats? Are you kidding? No, they won't put you on a slab, and they won't even be mad at you, since, well, they just don't care. But, claws being what they are, you may end up with a face that only a mother could love.
I was lucky. Only one measly scratch on my arm. And purely by accident. I'd picked up Sam to put him in the back bedroom where he'd be safe, and he kicked with his back feet, a panicky attempt to get away. Sam's a sweetie. He'd never take a swipe at anyone. Actually, none of the three — Jake, Sam, or Horatio — would deliberately hurt anyone. But when you get between temporarily psycho kitties with murder in their eyes and tails all poofy like they'd stuck their paw in a light socket, anything can happen.
And yesterday it was two-on-on, which is definitely against house rules. Especially when the target is shy Sam, who never bothers anyone. So I broke it up, separated them, and scolded the two aggressors. Here they are, with those very attitudes ...
These 3 1/2-year-old, occasionally lunatic brothers get along just fine when they're together two at a time. Or when they're downstairs & I'm there to nip a potential hissy-fit in the bud. That's why I screened off most of the 2nd floor of the house, and we play musical rooms on many days.
Yesterday, I decided to let them all romp around together upstairs while I was downstairs on the computer. Yes, I was temporarily insane, so sue me. Hell, it was really Twitter's fault anyway. As always, I lost track of time there & left the boys together just a liiiiiiiittle too long. Anyone with toddlers or preschoolers knows what playtime can be like: one minute all is peaceful, and the next there's utter mayhem, with hitting and crying and maybe hair-pulling.
I don't need kids. I have cats.
Anyway, there were no cat injuries, not even a scratch, only chasing and bopping and being obnoxious. Today, all is well. Sam & Horatio are sleeping curled up in the sun together, as usual. But Jake will not be joining them to play, at least not for a while.
If he gets bored, he can play a little game he invented, called Bop Max As She Walks By. It always ends the same way. Although she's half his size, she chases HIM all over the house. And he re-learns an important lesson: It's not about size, it's about attitude. And Max has plenty.
Of course, since Jake is not, shall we say, the brightest crayon in the box, he will forget that lesson quickly. But don't worry — she'll teach him again tomorrow. ;-}