Above: The cat with the attitude? That's Tabitha Darling. She had not given me her permission to take a picture. The look on her face is reminiscent of how the teacher would look at the class troublemaker. The fat, lazy cat in the box? That's Khai Namh. He couldn't care less if you take his picture, unless it causes him discomfort or to miss a meal. Sadly, there was no rescuing that box for future use. When Khai lays on it, it is thoroughly smushed!
These two are part of the trio of cats that live downstairs. Tabitha is Alpha Cat. It means just what it sounds like. Even though she's the youngest, she's the boss and she reminds the others of that frequently. She also spends a lot of time patrolling her territory, checking out anything new brought into the house and supervising us humans when we are occupied. She even follows us into the bathroom! I don't know what she thinks we would do in there if she left us alone. Maybe sneak out the window?
Now Alpha Tabitha is perfectly happy with this arrangement. She loves getting upstairs. She eats my plants, knocks stuff off my dresser, scratches on boxes, hisses at and chases my cats (except Chloe) and generally tries to take over. Khai comes upstairs infrequently, tends to hunker down in the hallway and growl. For hours. Literally. Yesterday he came up when I was reading. Anything short of a loud, sudden noise does not get my attention when I am reading. I was aware of his arrival, because Jessicat (one of the two "old girls" upstairs) made a beeline under the desk. I paid no more attention to the cats until, about two hours later, when Chloe jumped off my lap to get a nosh and a drink. Khai's growls rose in volume, so I noticed him again. Of course, his growling means nothing to Chloe. Chloe is hard-of-hearing. But she sees just fine and she saw Khai in the hall, who hissed in her face. How rude! My mom's third cat, Emmy, has never been upstairs. I doubt she's even noticed that the door is open. Emmy is the singularly most uncurious cat I have ever known.
Okay, so you have the background. You also remember that I've been cleaning out my closet for what, two months now? Well, in a spurt of energy yesterday, I pulled three of the last four boxes out, cleaned the plastic bins, sorted through the contents and stacked them in my room (of course). But this was the first time I'd cleaned like that since the whole leaving-the-door-open thing started. Now, I'm used to Bebe getting her bulk in my way when I'm working. And I'm accustomed to Chloe perching on top of stuff I'm trying to move or get at. Chloe is no big deal, though. She weighs about six pounds. (Jessicat is too much of a scaredy cat to get involved.) But, both Tabitha and Khai came up to see what all the ruckus was about. Because they were more interested in what I was doing, there were no confrontations--at first. I had the three bigger cats pushing in front of me, jumping on the bins I was moving and generally making nuisances of themselves.
I'll give you one guess who started the altercation. (Ha, there's a "cat" in the middle of altercation!) I was sorting through a box of scrapbooking supplies when the caterwauling started. In the hall. Where I couldn't see. All of a sudden, a very large, striped cat flew through the boxes on the floor and whipped around a corner of one stack. She peaked out, but I had effectively blocked Tabitha's attack when I yanked a box in front of her. (Sometimes my reflexes are still good!) In full piloerection (no it's not a bad word), Tabitha looked like a Halloween cat. I'll never know what happened, but I was tempted to pick up Bebe and beat Tabitha with Bebe's paws. I keep telling Be, "You're strong! You're bigger than she is! You are Bebe the Bad!" But, it doesn't seem to bolster her confidence. Bebe just looks at me like, "uh-huh, whatever you say, crazy lady."
Today, I changed my sheets. Sounds like another aside, you think? Not really. Since my bed is pushed into a corner, and I have my end table and chair at the foot of it, I have just the one side to work from. I have to lift the mattress slightly in order to tuck the sheet and blanket under the end. Did I mention how much Bebe weighs? Yeah, about 17 pounds. You ever try to lift a mattress with 17 pounds of anything on it? Well, make that 17 pounds into a playful, leaping cat and then try to get the job done. Now, imagine a six pound lump (that would be Chloe) under the sheet you are tucking in and that 17 pound leaping cat landing on said six pound lump. Well, basically, Chloe ripped the sheet right out of my hand and screamed at Bebe. Yes, screamed. Chloe has absolutely no patience with her younger companions. I think she looks at Bebe as if Be was Baby Huey. You remember, the big, dumb duck in the cartoons? Or was he a chicken? Poor Bebe.
I did finally get my bed made. We repeated the whole process with the summer-weight quilt I also put on the bed. I was very tired by the time I finished. I settled into my recliner, put the foot up, pushed the back down and took a nap. But not by myself. I am never truly alone.
Below: Chloe Elizabeth Victoria is not happy unless she is as close to my face as possible. Good thing she's only six pounds. Could you imagine if it was Bebe? Yikes! I'd probably suffocate!
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