The cats around here have been a bit wild, especially Maria. You may have gleaned from previous writing, that while Michael is a saintly, loving kitty, Maria is a bit perverse and frequently downright unpleasant. She is a pretty, dainty looking girl, but has a mean streak. Every morning when I am about to distribute breakfast to the three little household vermin, she comes down, walks into the kitchen, hisses, and bops either Michael or Margaret on the nose - completely unprovoked. They are both usually so stunned by this (their little memories must not span a complete diurnal cycle), that they just stare at her uncomprehendingly. Then she turns and walks over to her dish and begins to meow loudly and angrily until I serve her. The only people she really has liked are Rachael and Tom. If someone who hates cats or is seriously allergic to them visits, she will fawn on them and try to eat food off their plate, but that is it. She feigns to like me when I am cooking, and yesterday, pretending to be innocently interested in what I was doing, she got a goodly bit of the lunch I was preparing to take to work. Recently she has been doing that youthful (which she is not) cat thing of running from one end of the house to the other – back and forth like a demented creature. I suspect it is because we have been having “weather.” Michael did this in his adolescent months, and actually jumped right through a closed window.
Rebecca got hysterical, envisioning a severed artery, but when we went out to get him, he was sitting there, looking bemused and seemingly asking, “How did that happen?” He did not offer to fix the window. Maria has not yet jumped through a window, fortunately. I am sure she is too fat for that, but she waits by the front door when I take Margaret out for walkies, and when I open the door to come back in, out she shoots like a bit of lightening into the bushes. I am always tempted to just say, “Ciao, Maria,” but I know that Rachael’s heart would be broken. Yesterday, it was pouring rain, I was dressed for work, all clean dainty my self, and ready to go, when out she shot, through the door, and into the dripping hydrangeas. You may imagine the choice things I called her. Happily for Maria, my love of Rachael drove me on, and I resisted the temptation to leave her to her fate. This, just after eating my feta cheese. Was she at all grateful? Absolutely not.
The cats around here have been a bit wild, especially Maria. You may have gleaned from previous writing, that while Michael is a saintly, loving kitty, Maria is a bit perverse and frequently downright unpleasant. She is a pretty, dainty looking girl, but has a mean streak. Every morning when I am about to distribute breakfast to the three little household vermin, she comes down, walks into the kitchen, hisses, and bops either Michael or Margaret on the nose - completely unprovoked. They are both usually so stunned by this (their little memories must not span a complete diurnal cycle), that they just stare at her uncomprehendingly. Then she turns and walks over to her dish and begins to meow loudly and angrily until I serve her. The only people she really has liked are Rachael and Tom. If someone who hates cats or is seriously allergic to them visits, she will fawn on them and try to eat food off their plate, but that is it. She feigns to like me when I am cooking, and yesterday, pretending to be innocently interested in what I was doing, she got a goodly bit of the lunch I was preparing to take to work. Recently she has been doing that youthful (which she is not) cat thing of running from one end of the house to the other – back and forth like a demented creature. I suspect it is because we have been having “weather.” Michael did this in his adolescent months, and actually jumped right through a closed window.
Rebecca got hysterical, envisioning a severed artery, but when we went out to get him, he was sitting there, looking bemused and seemingly asking, “How did that happen?” He did not offer to fix the window. Maria has not yet jumped through a window, fortunately. I am sure she is too fat for that, but she waits by the front door when I take Margaret out for walkies, and when I open the door to come back in, out she shoots like a bit of lightening into the bushes. I am always tempted to just say, “Ciao, Maria,” but I know that Rachael’s heart would be broken. Yesterday, it was pouring rain, I was dressed for work, all clean dainty my self, and ready to go, when out she shot, through the door, and into the dripping hydrangeas. You may imagine the choice things I called her. Happily for Maria, my love of Rachael drove me on, and I resisted the temptation to leave her to her fate. This, just after eating my feta cheese. Was she at all grateful? Absolutely not.
2 comments:
Oh you poor kid! I have been there! I have soooo been there! And just before work, too. Hmmm, perhaps you need the Cat Whisperer???
Take care,
joan
What a pretty girl! She can't help acting that way: I'm sure she had a traumatic kittenhood.
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