Anyway, if it sometimes seems like we need a U.N. peacekeeping force around here ... bear in mind that not every day is like this. And right now they're both sleeping like little angels, curled up next to each other on the sofa. Some days are just more exciting than others ;-}
The treadmill was supposed to be mine. After all, I was the one with the recently healed broken ankle, and the need for physical therapy and strength-building. Yeah, right. LOL The day it was delivered and Scully and Max adopted it while it was still in the box, I realized that I would be sharing. With cats, you share everything. Except for those times when they take complete possession of your brand new ... whatever. As for the treadmill, they loved it from the moment the huge (and I do mean huge), flat box was wheeled into the house on a dolly. At times, they'd run, jump onto the smooth cardboard, and skid to the other end. Or bat their catnip mouse around on it like they were playing shuffleboard. Once it was out of the box, they found the deck a comfy place to sleep. And the handles? Perfect to step down onto, to shorten the jump from windowsill to floor. I have no idea why, but it wasn't until now, a year later, that they became interested in the console. I mean, damn, it's big enough to see. And for all those months, they'd sit on the windowsill beside me while I walked on the deck, mere inches away. For whatever reason, it didn't occur to them to walk on this big doohicky that the human holds onto, pushing it's buttons and making it beep and boop. It does now. And thus they have something new to battle over ... Scully, the more mature, smarter one, realizes that discretion is the better part of valor ... And a temporary peace agreement is reached ... Lest you worry that Scully spends her days being bullied, no need. The two of them alternate. They may have even drawn up a schedule, who knows. Today, Scully was the bully. She's stalked Max off and on since around lunchtime, mainly because Max dared go into HER giant microwave box. If Scully could speak, she would say, regarding the microwave box, "MINE! ALL MINE!," like greedy, grabby Daffy Duck when he finds treasure of any kind (I'm a huge Looney Toons fan, BTW).
Anyway, if it sometimes seems like we need a U.N. peacekeeping force around here ... bear in mind that not every day is like this. And right now they're both sleeping like little angels, curled up next to each other on the sofa. Some days are just more exciting than others ;-}
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It all starts with something new to worry about. Not only do I have to be careful I don't catch the H1N1 virus, but now it turns out that cats can catch it, too! Damn evil bug. Now it's after l'il kitties? Soooo ... I didn't buy that cute toy that was sitting loose in a bin at the store. No cellophane, no buy. Instead, I bought a pack of toys that cost 4 times as much. Scully & Max do not see this as a problem, since they are cats, which means they are worth four times as much as ... anything and everything. It's a cat thing.
By the time I got home, soggy and chilled from the rain, but my purchases nice and dry in plastic bags (sorry, carbon footprint -- it WET out there), all I cared about was drying off and warming up. All Scully and Max cared about was playing What's In The Bag? What's In The Bag? What's In The Bag? I think that's more of a dog thing, usually -- ya know, those hyper little jump-up-and-down dogs -- but even on a good day, Scully is obsessed with plastic bags and Max is obsessed with ... driving me out of my mind. Hey, everybody needs a hobby. Bags on kitchen counter. Cats eyeing kitchen counter. Bad combination. Time to play Let's See How Many Times We Can Get The Human To Say "Leave The Bag Alone!" Many times, it turns out. Many, many times. A whole frickin' sh**load of times, in fact. Because I'm figuring, who knows what germs were on the hands of the store clerks, after handling items touched by innumerable snotty little tots (must be a kid thing -- the need to run their hands over absolutely everything in the store), so could H1N1 be on the bag? But we're also still playing What's In The Bag? What's In The Bag? What's In The Bag? Ok, ok, I know when I'm beat. I shuffle over to the counter, one fuzzy slipper on, just a sock on the other foot, and toss the bags into one of the cabinets. Wipe down the counter with hydrogen peroxide. Problem solved. Fast forward to 1:00 a.m. Go into the cabinet, take out bags to put items away. Discover ... Brand new tub of cream cheese. Ya know ... WARM cream cheese. Warm, should've been refrigerated cream cheese. Warm, too damn expensive to throw out, but out it's gotta go anyway cream cheese. Two cats watching the human wail, "Aggghhhh!" I swear I heard them chuckling. Like I said, everybody needs a hobby. And Drive The Human Crazy is a fun one. Want to have people look at you oddly? Push a kitty stroller down the street. A dayglo pink one, at that. You get noticed. A lot of people don't realize it's for cats. They think you have a baby that's so hideous, you've enclosed the stroller so that no one will see him/her and be traumatized. What a kind and caring fellow citizen you must be. Yet, morbid curiosity being what it is, people feel compelled to squint and stare at the black mesh, perplexed expressions on their faces, as they try to see this baby only a mother and P.T. Barnum could love. Explain to them that it's a cat, and they seem both relieved and oddly disappointed. Then there are the people who are well aware of kitty strollers, yet still lean down, try to peer through the mesh, and do everything but say, "Cootchy-coo," as if it actually were a baby. Meanwhile, groggy kitty, post-vet appointment, is on the inside looking out, with a Cheech-and-Chong-like, "Heyyyy, wha's happenin'?" attitude. Thus was Max's journey home from the vet a few days ago. Don't worry, minor stuff, including ear mites, so she's fine. I suspect she enjoyed being stoned. How else to explain the goofy cat-grin and uncharacteristic affectionate mood? Possibly, she was a stoner in a previous life and was channeling her former self. But, all good things must come to an end, and by that first night, the battle over ear drops began. It was fun while it lasted :-}
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AuthorWriter of horror, sci-fi, other genres. Servant of cats. Multiple cats, who kindly allow me to live here (at least until they figure out how to open Fancy Feast cans themselves). Contact me at: [email protected] Archives
March 2013
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