|Our cats as kittens: Dash on the left, and Dot on the right|
A catless writer is almost inconceivable. It's a perverse taste, really, since it would be easier to write with a herd of buffalo in the room than even one cat; they make nests in the notes and bite the end of the pen and walk on the typewriter keys. [Barbara Holland]
They're both staring at me now. Yep, they definitely want me to write about them.
Cats are the ultimate narcissists. You can tell this because of all the time they spend on personal grooming. A dog's idea of personal grooming is to roll on a dead fish. [James Gorman]
So, our girls are a lot bigger than they were when they first wormed their way into our hearts at the animal shelter a few years ago. And they've taught us quite a lot. (Or as they prefer to think of it... they've trained us well.)
Like... did you know cats aren't equipped with snooze buttons?
And no matter how big they are, they can still wriggle into the smallest places imaginable... A cat determined not to be found can fold itself up like a pocket handkerchief if it wants to. [Louis J. Camuti]
Dash, especially. She can curl up into the teeniest ball and scrunch into the smallest boxes and containers. Dot, on the other hand, prefers to sprawl and let it all hang out...
Dogs come when they're called; cats take a message and get back to you. [Mary Bly]
A cat isn't fussy... just so long as you remember he likes his milk in the shallow rose-patterned saucer and his fish on the blue plate. From which he will take it, and eat off the floor. [Arthur Bridges]
Now, don't get me wrong. Sure, cats can occasionally be a tad stand-offish. And, yeah, it's entirely possible that they consider us their staff. Or their furniture, or personal scratching posts or jungle gyms. But they're cuddle bunnies, too. When they want to be. When it's convenient for them. Like when you're trying to read the newspaper, or work at the computer, or sleep... I mean, who doesn't like to wake up with a cat licking her face? Cats have an infallible understanding of total concentration, and get between you and it. [Arthur Bridges]
And they're verrrrry supportive of your writing endeavors. And helpful in oh-so-many ways...
Who else would do such a thorough beer search on your behalf... or help clean up those styrofoam peanuts?
But here's the thing. Dot and Dash are usually right there with us. (Whether we want them there or not.) When I'm on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor, Dash usually hitches a ride on my back. (I dunno... maybe she thinks she's helping?) If I'm using the laptop, Dot manages to squeeze her rather sizable girth between my body and the computer. (I've gotten quite good at typing around her...) If we're in the bed... they're in the bed. Usually on top of me. (I guess Smartacus moves around too much. Then again, it's darned near impossible to move around at all with two cats on top of you...) And since they've taken over our house, I haven't given anyone a present that didn't have cat hair stuck under the tape and chew marks on the ribbon. What can I say? They like to help.
But sometimes... sometimes, they... disappear. Sometimes, they retreat to the sunroom we fixed up. For US. (They DO let us use it from time to time...)
And they do like to claim a windowsill or the front door... to look outside. Rather wistfully at times. Like when other cats are out there... looking in. Or they see squirrels cavorting in the yard.
Still, when they would mysteriously disappear for an hour or so, I always thought they were in some secret hiding place around the house. You know, that special place they go to when they hear you spell v-e-t? When they wanted to hide, there was no way we were gonna find them, no matter how hard we looked. No matter how much we called them, or how hard we shook a bag of treats. If they wanted to hide, they weren't coming out until they were good and ready.
At least, that's what I thought.
Now I've learned.
Now I know the truth.
Our cats have been leading (gasp!) secret lives! It's true! Dot drives the getaway car...
And just LOOK what Dash has been up to...
Those little stinkers.
A tom cat hijacked a plane, stuck a pistol into the pilot's ribs, and demanded: 'Take me to the canaries.' [Bob Monkhouse]
So what do you suppose YOUR cats are doing when you can't find THEM...?
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
[The images Smarticus and I didn't take came from seniorark and icanhascheezburger]