Piper has a long, pretty tail.
When she gets mad, she growls and swats at it. I suppose this is better than her swatting and attacking the other cats. Or me.
If she’s about to pounce on something, she wiggles it before she leaps.
She sticks it in her mouth and walks in circles when she wants attention.
She’ll do this on top of the fence every so often, even if it is raining.
As I type this story, Piper is sitting on the back of my chair, gently tickling my ear with her tail.
Tails are very useful things.
“There’s odd noises coming from under the bed,” said my wife.
I rubbed my eyes. “It must be Nardo and Piper.”
Both Nardo and Piper were on the blanket.
“Will you please look?” my wife asked. “I don’t like odd noises.”
“Fine,” I said. I leaned over the side and looked.
A dwarf was tucked up under the bed, reading from a calculator: “Three… five… seven… nine…”
“Can you please stop it with the odd noises?” I asked him.
He nodded. “Two… four… six… eight… ten…”
I pulled back up on the bed. “How’s that, dear?”
Frisky the cat hangs out in the kitchen and demands two things: Parmesan cheese and butter.
Now that I’ve switched to that omega-3 spread plant sterol stuff, there’s plenty of butter left over for Frisky.
I don’t know where we got it, but recently we bought Grade AA butter instead of the Grade A butter. Until now, I didn’t know there were different grades of butter.
One was yellower than the other, but I couldn’t tell the difference.
Frisky could. He turned his nose up at it and chirped angrily.
I gave in and gave him the good stuff.
Fluffy glared at Steve from his nest made from shredded pajamas and hissed.
“Does Fluffy take anything besides pajamas?” asked Steve. “Towels? Socks?”
“Nope,” said Bob. “Just pajamas.”
Steve reached again.
Fluffy hissed louder.
“Fluffy doesn’t like to share,” said Bob. “He thinks those are his.”
“Well, they’re evidence,” said Steve. “Not even Fluffy can stop The Long Arm Of The Law.”
Two hours later, Steve sat in the emergency room with a heavy bandage on The Long Arm Of The Law and a patch on the Scratched Cornea Of The Law.
“You should have called for backup,” said Bob.
“Meow!” said Frisky, turning circles by his bowl in the kitchen.
“For the last time, it is not time for dinner!” I said.
“Meow!” said Nardo.
“Mew!” exclaimed Piper.
“Look what you’ve done,” I told Frisky. “Now you’ve got the other two all riled up.”
It’s the same thing every year when Daylight Savings Time ends.
I don’t know whether it’s their little furry bellies rumbling or the sun going down earlier every evening, but there’s no telling a cat when his or her dinner is going to be.
The clock be damned, the cats tell you that it’s suppertime.
Ned put down his briefcase and looked at the note pinned to the front door again:
“Did you fix the charcoal?” it said.
Ned shrugged, got out the cat-carrier, and went looking for the cat.
“Here, Charcoal!” he shouted. “Here, kitty-kitty!”
No sign of the cat.
He went to the cupboard, pulled out a can of food, and tapped it repeatedly with a spoon.
“Who wants din-din?” said Ned.
Again, he waited.
Still no sign of the cat.
“Well, you’ve got to come out sometime,” he said to the empty room.
Under the bed, Charcoal cleaned his claws.
There are three kinds of empty cat collars in this world.
All those collars at the pet store. So hard to choose. Will it look good? Does it have a bell? Is it a safe collar for them to wear if they get tangled in something? How long will they take to get used to it?
Sometimes, a collar wears out. Or it breaks. They just get thrown out with the rest of the garbage. Once again, you buy another.
But every now and then, an empty collar means something else:
A dear, beloved friend is gone.
Those, you keep.
We put a bag over Scottie’s head, hand him a club, and tell him to start swinging.
The finesse of piñata is in knowing when to yank the rope. At some point, you have to let the kid land a blow or two.
It’s like toying with a cat. You can’t keep teasing the cat forever. Eventually, the cat gets frustrated and gives up.
Also, piñata challenges the senses. Even though Scottie is blindfolded, he can still determine the piñata’s location by the sound of the jingling bell inside.
I knew I should have taken the cat’s collar off first.