My husband would say a headline like this should be published in the scientific journal titled, “Duh”.
As you may know from a previous post, we recently acquired a new cat. This cat is doomed to be forever compared to her predecessor – kind of like saying, “why can’t you be more like your brother.” Their personalities couldn’t be more different.
Aloof and confident, Horatio ruled his territory with only a bored glance, but wasn’t afraid to let you know when he needed you. Cleopatra keeps an alert eye on her surroundings at all times. She runs and hides with the slightest hint of movement in her direction and yet she seems to consider me her safe place.
When everyone else has left the house she creeps out of her hiding spot and sneakily peeks at me from behind various vantage points. Then she follows me if I’m moving around the house, until I turn around – at which point she freezes and either looks panicked, or becomes really interested in nonchalantly sniffing something nearby. If I’m sitting reading or typing, she slowly walks over, sniffs the couch, tests its structural integrity with her claws and then climbs up, situating herself in such a way that I can’t possibly move or get anything done.
If I do manage to move or re-situate her, she jumps up, looks at me like all of a sudden this kind, safe, stationary person, became a super scary, unpredictable moving person, and runs away to hide.
Then we start the game all over again.
She’s also a black cat, so the stalking me around the house thing can be a little creepy. Not that I am superstitious…
But in the evenings when all is quiet and my husband and I are relaxing with a book or television, and she climbs up to cuddle in the blanket – this black ball of fur purring in my lap, I realize why pets are such a treat for the soul.
(I also feel a bit like an evil villain as I stroke her fur and hatch my master plan)
babystepstowriting 