No, I'm not about to be abducted by aliens. I should be so lucky. Instead, cats. To the left, Max. To the right, Scully. Inches away; one on the chair beside me, the other on the arm of the chair. Why? Because the bag of cashews & raisins & almonds I just opened bears a close resemblance to their treats bag -- Whiskas Temptations, to be exact. And even sounds the same when you pull open that zip-lock. Whoever thought up the design does not have cats. Otherwise, they’d have known that even lifting it out of the closet would perk up kitty ears and lead to: the 7 Levels of Cat Manipulation:
1) Staring with big, accusing cat-eyes (Hey, I want some! Remember last week when you made me give back that mouse I made dizzy by batting it around? You owe me!)
2) Whining pathetically (Awwww, you never let me have any fun)
3) Pawing at human’s hand or item of interest (Is that what I think it is? It doesn't smell nice 'n stinky, but I'll settle)
4) Climbing onto human’s lap (I love you. See -- cuddling. Love, love, love. NOW GIMME SOME!)
5) Clawing at human's hand, hoping to dislodge possible edibles (Well, screw this, I'm just gonna TAKE IT)
6) Glaring with resentment when placed on the floor (Excuuuuse me?!!!)
7) Walking away with feigned indifference (Oh, please! I didn't want any of that crap anyway. Got no frickin' stinky smell. What good is it?)
But then their human reaches into the bag for another handful. Bag rustles …
Repeat steps 1 - 7.
This is why some people have hamsters.
But ya know … gotta love ‘em anyway. We’re programmed that way, aren't we? Forgiveness is doled out even when your brand-new window shade ends up resembling confetti. And when the new plant you bought becomes a little green nub sticking up out of the potting soil. And of course when, with much chuh-chuh-chuh-hack-hack-hack-wheeze-wheeze-wheeze-kerplooey! they deposit a nice big hairball (and whatever else in it) right smack in the middle of your pillow. And then look up at you with an "Am I adorable, or what?" look. The wonderful world of cats.
Scully is about 8 years old. She's the calm, logical one. Except when she isn't. She's tiger and white, and yes, cuddly as hell most of the time. I think you can guess who she was named after. Max is orange tiger, around 4 years old, and for the most part, anti-social. Although she does have her moments. Most of them involve food.
I decided to give them their own blog-within-a-blog, since they've been so kind as to allow me to reside in THEIR house. I have no doubt that they think their lives are far more interesting than mine. They're probably right.