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6:45 a.m. Samantha butts the door open to the bathroom as I'm toweling off in the shower stall. She looks at me through the steamy glass and mouths something. Obviously she's been meowing at the semi-closed door long enough. It's time for Daddy to acknowledge her furry self. By the time I've stepped out, she's on the sink staring at me and going. "MAO. MAO. MAO." Samantha never learned to meow properly. "Mao!" I say to her. "MAO." she replies. "Mao!" "MAO." "Mao!" "MAO." "Mao!" "MAO." "Mao!" "MAO." "Mao!" "MAO." "Mao!" "MAO." "Mao!" "MAO." "Mao!" "MAO." "AAAAUUUUGGGHHH!" That last one is Lisa. We appear to have disturbed her. It's just that Samantha has become so demanding in the morning. The time between bathroom and breakfast is now Samantha Time, requiring rubs and scratches and The Throwing of the Unrecognizable Mouse (sometimes with actual fetching). If I don't give it to her, she'll jump on the bed and do it to a sleeping Lisa. Sometimes bringing the Unrecognizable Mouse along just in case Lisa wants to chuck it from bedside. Sometimes the meowing is really bad, and I have an Apu moment ("Shut up! Why don't you shut up! I can't believe you don't shut up!"). Plus she's still convinced there are cats in the basement. She figures that since we moved to a new house, and there's a basement stairwell just like the old house, and since the old house had cats behind the door at the bottom of the basement stairwell, there must be cats behind the door in this basement stairwell. I'll walk past and see her curled up at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for a paw to stick out or something. Recently she decided she likes to sleep under the covers at night. But she won't burrow under by herself. Oh no. She'll stand on Lisa's pillow and make smack her lips at her (do cats have lips? Sure sounds like it...) until Lisa lifts the covers, and then she'll slooooowly inch her way under. You can't shove her, no, because then she'll leave. And you can't roll over because she'll leave and you can't touch her because she'll leave... The funniest was when Emma lay down on the warm lump under the sheets and Samantha hissed at her. Emma has one reaction to hissing. Raise the paw and WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP! like she's some Luddite beating the mustiness out of the laundry with a tennis racket. Emma is a very quiet kitty, only making noise when it's time to play her favorite game, Try To Take Chunks Out Of Daddy's Fingers With Your Claws As He Rubs You. Then she's all MRRRRR and MEEHHHHH. Bloodletting seems to excite her. The cats love each other like sisters. And we mean that in the truest sense of the word. They go from cuddling to full on war in the space of a minute. The typical pattern goes like this: Samantha is lying peacefully somewhere and Emma decides to 'cuddle'. She tends to cuddle by lying on top of you, so our kittens end up shifting slowly from a cuddle to a stack as Emma casually turns Samantha into a hassock. Inevitably Samantha will start to complain and then the WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP returns. See? Sisters. The new house has been good for them. Samantha has lost a lot of weight (she's nearly svelte now) and Emma loves the roaming space. Fun game. Wait until Emma is on the cat condo in the TV room and go outside to the window right beside her. Something about the concept of Mommy or Daddy being OUTSIDE drives her batshit. I've noticed that cat stories are slowly being replaced with children stories in our group of friends. And, as the idea of having kids of our own creeps up on me like a horror movie killer on a sorority girl, I wonder how long until our girls are usurped by a squalling infant and endless teething/burping/bonking head stories begin to fill this journal. I promise I'll give ample warning. |
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