It’s time for some mid-week trivia, folks:
What caused me to look like this at 9:30 am this morning?
A. I had one too many mojitos the night before.
B. This is what I look like every morning at 9:30.
C. I was up half the night searching for rogue cat children.
And the answer is………………
At around 5 am this morning, I was awoken by the sound of a howling cat. Thinking it was Misty about to issue her litter, I rushed downstairs. But when I peeked out the window to make sure, I saw a calico (whom we’ve named Chester) hovering over an unfamiliar black and white cat.
As I studied the markings on the black and white cat, my stomach flip-flopped.
“Oh no!” I thought, “That’s OUR cat!!” and I ran to the kitchen.
Earlier that evening, I’d raised one of the kitchen bay windows to let in some cool air. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to lower it before going to bed. I say “unfortunately” because Brody and Baby Girl have been known to bust out window screens. Sticking my hand under the raised pane I discovered that, sure enough, the screen was gone.
You’d think my cats were prisoners by the way they attack windows.
Once they jump onto a window sill, they immediately begin sniffing around the pane in search of a hole to squeeze through.
I’ve decided that Baby Girl is the brains behind every operation and Brody is the brawn.
“Alright, Brody,” says Baby Girl, “see if you can push this screen out while I play look-out.”
Yes, a lot of little kitty schemes pass through that little kitty brain of hers. And I bet none of them involve being my lap cat for the next 20 years.
“One day I, too, shall be an outside cat where I will roll in the dirt every day and eat all the grass I want! Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
Since the kitchen bay window is Brody’s turf, though, I wonder if he was the brains behind last night’s escape.
Whoever the mastermind was, however, I bet none of them ever anticipated a tongue-lashing from Chester…
Going back to last night, even though I tried rescuing my Brody from the bully, both cats bolted into the darkness the minute they saw me coming. By then, Mr. Smith had woken up and come downstairs to help me look for the runaways. After about half an hour, Baby Girl casually strolled over to where I was cat hunting and looked at me casually as if to say, “Hola Madre, what seems to be the problem?” Snatching her up, I brushed her off and demanded she tell me where her brother was.
She just shot me a look that said, “Yeah, right.”
We had almost given up hope on finding Brodywhen, finally, he showed up at the back door, tail poofy and eyes guilty.
That’s right, cat. It’s back in the slammer for you.
And no more open windows for you, Baby Girl.
Yep! The Smith house is cracking down on misbehavior.
And its for my cats’ own good.
Because they would never make it as street cats. Well, maybe Baby Girl could. She can be pretty tough when she wants to be.
Not a chance for this softie.