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Friday Night Lament: Fuzzball held hostage 15 A ceasefire is called… by Fuzzball Sooooooo, kits and kittens - we spent the better part of a month naming the dreadful duo. Mom thinks they are "so cutsey -wootsey" the way they stalk me. I can't even go to the litter box without one of them following or springing out from behind the door. Mom thinks they "admire" me. Okay - whatever. Fuzzball has tired-head just thinking about them - so a ceasefire has been struck with the poisonous pair. I'll even call them by their names… Papa and Razzi. The recliner and coffee table are mine. They can perch on the couch and the TV (I have to admit that they look better up there than the 'rabbit ears' Mom used to use.) I get first dibs on the juice of any canned food with chicken, they get anything fishy. We have separate bowls for milk (thank GOODNESS there won't be any more cat slobber in mine!) We're still negotiating about the litter boxes. Computer time is divided evenly with me having first option each time. |
Things got dicey when we moved to the really important stuff - we spent the most time working out the ownership of spot in the sun as it shines through the windows. The Fuzzball won, of course. When I'm sprawled out in all my glory soaking up the rays, they will not touch my tail, jump over me, or hop in the window to block it. In exchange I will - begrudgingly - allow them to sleep in my Crow's Nest Scratchy Pole occasionally. And when they crawl around all over the bed while underneath the covers, I won't play "whack a mole".
You know - they really are kinda cute! Miss Papa keeps surfing the same website that Mom does - that Changeling Press site. She and Miss Razzi keep telling me that I remind them of that Leopard guy of Isa Jordan's- Ilia - and every time I regally stalk by them I hear giggles and one of them will say "does this gray fur I'm wearing make my ass look too big?"
I sure wish I had a Quiet Kitty…