Cats Rule

Scooter interrupting my work for some ear rubs.

I might appear a bit ragtag today and for good reason. That’s exactly how I feel, thanks to Scooter. Perhaps I should re-phrase that. It isn’t the cat’s fault. NOTHING is ever the cat’s fault.

For instance:

*Your favorite unique French vase lies in pieces in the kitchen sink. How many times must a feline remind you not to leave pretties on a windowsill?

*In a hurry looking for the teal hair tie you left by the bathroom sink when exasperation sets in. You didn’t put it in the drawer, so kitty used it as pretend prey. You find it as you slip on your flats heading out the door, but too late. You’ve already changed your top to match the color of one you found in the drawer.

*Sunday night you spent precious sleep time clearing notes and papers on your desk, tossing/sorting/stacking into a manageable pile, creating clutter-free space for the laptop. Monday morning you round the corner to discover papers scattered willy-nilly over the floor, along with pens, pencils and post-its, calendar and candle, a wheel-thrown pretty you made with your own hesitant hands - but hey! - in one piece - with the folder file sitting precariously on the edge. On the desk, stretched out comfy and proud, is the cat eyeing you with the judgmental expression that says, “Thought I’d help. This is how you clean off a desk.”

My current sluggishness contrasts with Scooter’s peaceful slumber across my bed. He determinedly claimed the territory after a raucous 4 AM pouncing of each noise-producing toy he owns, adding multiple rowdy circuits across every flat between attacks. My sleep was irretrievable without risking the return of attack mode, putting my toes and elbows in jeopardy. I won’t disturb him for now. We have a vet visit today