originally posted by Blue
Beware, Motley, he is going to milk it for all it's WORTH! 
My friend's cat broke her leg, and she was the MOST pitiful thing in the worldā¦ dragging that leg and cast as though she were given the burden of Atlas himself.
Rattle some food in her dish, and she became an Olympic gold medalist in NOTHING flat.
originally posted by motley
*grin* Blue, yes he has. Because he kept licking the bandage off, and has patchy fur on his leg, he's now wearing a collar - you should just SEE the look of offended dignity, and then he crawls into bed and gets cuddles and purrs like there is NO tomorrow. My husband is really buying into the guilt trip. *grin*
Despite all the careā¦ he still has the growth, and probably is going to lose a toe. 
originally posted by Blue
My Camas milked something for everything it was worth, but there was a twistā¦
Camas and his brother Stormy used to have the most annoying tendency to "leap for his life" when he decided he had had enough cuddling. Even if he was purring and drooling, if he decided he had had enough, he would dig in ALL of his claws, and fling himself away.
One night, he did this as my brother was standing on a hardwood floor. Unfortunately, he did not give himself enough time or space to right himself fully. Chet and I both winced as he slammed into the floor, only half righted, bashing the daylights out of his right hip. Chet was on the floor in a nanosecond, to make sure Camas had not done himself serious damage.
Thankfully, he only seemed to have a minor bruise, because he limped around for about half an hour, before walking around normally with no signs of pain - either limping, or crying.
HOWEVER, for the next month, whenever he got into trouble - meaning that Chet or I raised our voices, he would suddenly start limping pitifully, complete with a "brave despite the agony" expression on his face. There were only a couple problems with this little act:
1. Chet and I KNEW he was faking it, because he never showed any other signs of distress.
2. He was favoring the wrong leg.
originally posted by motley
*LAUGH*
Bailey has an evil twin brother (hmmā¦ sound familiar?) who loves chasing our newer addition 'round and 'round the house at night, until she gets into a corner and then yowls loud enough that I wake up and put a stop to it. He is so completely unapologetic. His name is Bu. Evil Bu, we've started dubbing him. Before we've just gone to reassure Sylvie, and just not given him attention for a while - the kind way. This morning, after another offended yowl, I decided, hell, let's actually give him a taste of his own medicine. So I chased him around the house until I ran out of breath, and once recovered, had a look to see if he was chastised. He sat calmly licking his paw on the window sillā¦ pausedā¦ and then looked at me as if to sayā¦
'Andā¦?'
---------
Question: How does one give a cat assertiveness training?
originally posted by Tygrr
I have a cute story to share with you all. Not only do I love Janny's works, but my cat Morgan does too! I was cleaning out my purse on the floor and set aside my copy of Stormed Fortress. Immediately Morgan came over and laid on it. (That is how she claims what's hers.) For the past several hours, she has got up and done other thingsā¦but frequently returns to cuddle the book. I am not sure why she is so in love with it, as I don't think she can readā¦lol!
originally posted by Blue
Hi all, sorry to have been so uncommunicative of late. Between health woes kicking up their heels, I have a new visitor, the Phantom of Peasley Canyon.
April 19, 2008
For the last several weeks, there has been an extra soul hanging out around the Lunatic Fringe. There was the usual 5 - Chet, me, Stormy, Sunday and Camas. But number 6 was a little calico kitten.
Since the calico coloring is about 99.99999% of the time tied to the female only, we figured it was a female. She's a real beauty, being mostly white, with a medium length coat and the orange and black calico patches confined mostly to her face and tail, which makes me suspect Turkish Van ancestry.
Usually, in the late evening, or very early morning, she would be outside our apartment, meowing. Maybe this was her way of seeing if we were really the big suckers that most cats seem to think we are. Chet and I were not sure if she was a neighbor's cat or a stray. She seemed to be well fed, which ruled out the stray theory, but that was due, we think, to the chicken we would see from time to time on the little divider between our patio and the apartment to the immediate West of us. Thankfully, the neighbor to our immediate West did not put out chicken with bones in it.
Every time we went out to try to catch her, to see if she had a collar or any kind of identification on her, such as a collar and tags, she would move like greased lightning and be gone before either of us could even blink.
This is especially surprising, considering when Chet meows, he usually has the undivided attention of virtually every feline alive.
With her white coat and ability to disappear so utterly, I nicknamed her the Phantom of Peasley Canyon.
Chet did try to put food out for her, but this had a rather curious effect on at least two of our cats. Stormy would go into full territorial squall, and start bashing his head against the patio door, trying to scare her off. It seemed to work when he did that, because she would run away.
Camas, on the other hand, seems to be her boyfriend! We found this out one morning when Camas escaped the room we normally keep the cats in during the day. He went over to the patio door, and was meowing up a storm - just a "conversational" tone, and it was different sounds, as though he were actually TALKING to her.
I started telling Chet to look for the leashes and harnesses, because maybe we could use Camas to lure her in so we could at least look at her and figure out if she was a stray or not. No go, everything is still in boxes, even this many months later.
I became more and more convinced that she was a stray, because we have had unseasonably cold weather, with temperatures dropping to near and below freezing, and no one was taking her inside. We have also had very LATE snow in these parts, including accumulations of snow, which is HIGHLY unusual for the Pacific Northwest.
It's entirely possible that she has uncaring owners. Whoever her owner is, IF she does have a home, does not seem to know that despite having fur, cats need warmth and shelter, too.
I told Chet what I was calling this kitty, and started mentioning daily how worried I was for little Phantom. It got to the point where he was calling her that, too.
Today there was a bit of a breakthrough, in that I FINALLY caught her! I had my good friend Nita over for a visit, the first time she has been over to see us in the new place. We were having some good girl talk, and I mentioned Phantom at one point during the day.
Camas, Stormy and Sunday the Hutt were out, - well, out and about in the apartment itself, since we don't allow them outdoors - and taking turns getting scritches from Nita, a loving kitty slave.
At about 3:00 this afternoon, I heard some odd clicking sounds. I looked out the windows, and sure enough, it was hailing, or as the alleged weathermen in this region now call it, "ice pellet showers."
Nita and I watched it for a few moments, and then both of us had to go sit back down - it was a real cripple reunion for the both of us, that's for sure! - and watched my cats wandering around, trying hard to get into trouble without getting caught. Nita's new cane has some fringes and feathers, and Stormy and Camas were making it their mission to get those fun, dangly things!
About ten minutes after the hail stopped, I heard Phantom meowing outside. I called Nita over, asking her if she wanted to see the elusive Phantom, and she said sure. I opened the blinds, and sure enough, there was Phantom, at the end of the patio, just taking shelter underneath the upstairs neighbor's balcony, squalling away. Camas and Stormy had gathered by the door, and I grabbed Stormy and tossed him into the cat's room. He was MOST displeased by that.
I opened the door to see if I could actually catch Phantom, with Stormy in the hoosegow, so she would not be scared off. I told Nita about Camas and his "girlfriend" - he would not be much of a boyfriend, really, because he was fixed when he was six months old - and was hoping against hope that maybe she would hear his friendly voice and get in range for me to catch her. I opened the door a little, and had to push Camas back with my foot because he was ready to shoot out the door.
I was in luck, because Phantom had apparently had enough of the hail and was coming in. I reached down to grab her, and managed to pin her just as she saw me and was pulling away! I had a grip on her back, and was concentrating on getting her inside without hurting her, and closing the door real fast.
I congratulated Nita on being my good luck charm as I locked the patio door, and picked up the kitty to cuddle her. Thankfully, she is not a full fledged feral, because, while scared, she didn't snarl and rip into me. She did have razor sharp little claws, though!
She had some poop stuck to the fur of her tail, which weighs heavily in favor of the stray theory.
What settled it for me, however, was that she reeks of Bounce dryer sheets. To stay warm, she was huddling under dryer vents. That tells me two important things - first, she is a really smart little girl, knowing how to stay warm, and secondly that she HAS no real home, except where she can find warmth.
I called Chet, who was out taking care of his dad, and told him that I had finally caught the Phantom. He chided me somewhat halfheartedly, however, because we just can't have another cat. We're allowed a maximum of two cats, and we have three because we neglected to mention the number of cats we actually have - stupid rule.
Nita, who has a huge, soft heart for cats, already has two, and was having her doubts, but she called her husband anyway, and asked if he would mind another cat. He was forced to say no, because they already have two rescues, who are just starting to settle in.
So at the moment, I have a kitty in my bathroom, looking for a permanent home. Chet and I went out to breakfast at one of our favorite restaurants, where we know the staff on a first name basis, and no one can take a kitty in.
This leaves us with finding a rescue organization to find a home for her. I refuse to put her into a situation where she might end up euthanized. I told Chet bluntly that if there was only the choice between keeping her ourselves or putting her with an organization that might euthanize her that we would somehow make it work.
"I did NOT go through all of that worry, to rescue her from a bad situation, only to have her end up euthanized. It ain't gonna happen!"
originally posted by Blue
Incredible though it may seem, even though of his 8 years of life, he has been fixed for 7 1/2 of them, Camas is apparently in LOVE.
Remember, he is the one we caught talking to Phantom through the patio door. I'm sure he was telling her what well trained catslaves Chet and I are, and to come on in when she got the opportunity.
I dubbed him the "Love Monster", which is just as good a sarcastic nickname for him as "Ex Genius" is for Stormy. Whatever the case may be, Chet gets the giggles when I call Camas that.
A few days after catching Phantom, Chet decided it was time to let the other cats have the run of the apartment again while we were sleeping. We don't ALWAYS do this, because they abuse the privilege by taking advantage of inferior human night vision to get into all SORTS of trouble that cannot easily be pinned on one or the other.
As I mentioned not too long after moving in here, Camas learned to open the door to the bathroom we keep them in. Not too difficult, really, as we have all levers instead of doorknobs. One of the drawbacks of a handicapped accessible apartment, I'm afraid.
Well, it was last Wednesday or Thursday. I was not feeling good, thanks to a spinal cord injury related problem, and I was totally wiped out. So much so, in fact, that I sacked out at about 830 pm, and was just about asleep before my head hit the pillow.
At around 10 pm or so, I thought I heard the door open. I have to leave my bedroom door wide open, or Stormy will sit outside of it and howl pitifully at me, even though he knows that sleeping with me is impossible. One of the side effects of the spinal cord injury is apparently Restless Leg Syndrome, or as I like to call it, Horizontal Jogging.
If I leave the door open just far enough for Stormy to get in, either he or Sunday will bulldoze it all the way, and I don't want it slamming into the closet doors. So when the cats are out, the door is wide open. Yes, I am a very well trained catslave.
It did not really register to me, knowing that my bedroom door was wide open, that there would be a reason for the door to open. It wasn't until I heard Stormy going into a full territorial squall that it occurred to me what was happening. I sat bolt upright in bed and said, "Oh, *&%$!"
My night vision was sufficient to see a number of fuzzy bodies scattering, not the least of which was a little white blur into the open bathroom door.
I turned on my bedside lamp, and sure enough, the bathroom door was open. I got up, turned on the bathroom light, and there was Phantom, curled up in her basket, with her face lit up with the glow of her halo, as if to say, "Why, mama, I have no IDEA who opened that door! But I was a good girl, and I stayed in here, just like you told me!"
I closed the bedroom door, and set something against the bathroom door. I was still out of it enough to believe that Phantom had opened the door.
In the light of day, however, I realized that that was impossible. For, while a smart little girl, Phantom has neither the size, strength or even the requisite mass to open the door. But none of those things have ever remotely bothered Camas. And I also remembered that one of the fuzzy bodies scattering out of my room the night before was blonde.
So the Love Monster had come by the night before to bust his girl out of stir. How cute is that?
originally posted by Blue
Keeping a kitten entertained is pretty easy, though it can also be a pain in the seat.
Phantom was getting bored, locked in the bathroom all by herself, and I was finding stuff all over the place. She definitely lives up to the motto I discovered for Camas and Stormy:
The world is my toybox.
I tried giving her pieces of crumpled paper, and these would work just fine, until the kitty would get overly worked up, and slam dunk them into her water dish.
Toy would be fished out and tossed, water dish would be refilled with fresh water, and another piece of crumpled up paper would last all of about 15 minutes before the next dunking.
Sigh.
Chet, hearing me grumble about the transitory nature of the paper, went to one of the pet stores, and got her a more permanent toy, or so we thought. These were pom poms made of yarn, and soaked in catnip. To be fair, he got two more, so that Stormy and Camas would have new toys.
These worked out pretty well for a while, Camas and Stormy running around like a couple of oversized kittens, and acting all nipped up. Or, as I put it to Chet, "All freaked out with no place to go."
Phantom liked her new toy. A lot. So much so, in fact, that it only lasted a day and a half.
After having to pick up innumerable pieces of stray yarn so the kitty would not give herself tummy trouble with the sudden influx of synthetic fiber, I decided it was time to get her another toy, that would hopefully be a bit hardier.
We had to go to Petsmart anyway, to get more cat food. The kids LOVE the Little Friskies Feline Favorites, and that is the only place we have found that sells the stuff in the 20 pound bags.
While we were there, I went to the kitty toy aisle, and was searching for something that had neither rattle, bell or squeaker. Not an easy chore!
Pearl's kitty, TC, has a HUGE collection of toy mousies that he gets every Christmas from Ruth in his stocking. I noticed that many of them were made of faux fur, and they stand up to quite a beating. TC is quite the fierce "Gentleman Hunter", which is how he looks to me, attacking his mousie collection in his tux.
I found a package with a mousie much like TC has, and spent a few minutes with it, squeezing it like mad (hoping that the silly thing had no squeaker) and shaking it to within an inch of its life to make sure it had no rattle or bells.
To compromise, it does have a rattle capability, but it sounds like it is stuff with pellets - definitely not as loud as a baby's rattle, but making enough noise to appeal to a kitten.
We got home, fed the little darlings, and I dropped the mousie off in the bathroom for Phantom. She was rather upset that I had taken out the pom pom, as well as all the tasty yarn bits, but she seemed REALLY happy with the mousie.
I watched her for a few minutes, and she was happily pouncing on it, swatting it, and otherwise attacking it. She was even grabbing it by the tail, and tossing it in the air for herself. Knowing she was having a great time, I decided to get on with other things that had to be done, and let the kitty play with her new toy.
From time to time, I heard the mousie bouncing against the bathroom door, and knew that the good times kept going. But it stopped after a while.
I thought it was possible that she had worn herself out (ha!) playing with her new toy, and didn't give it much thought until a few hours later, when I had to go in there to take care of a call of nature.
Phantom was sitting on the floor, in front of her water dish, looking woebegone. Why? Right in the middle of the bowl was the mousie. She looked up at me as though to say, "Well? It's about time you decided to come in here and rescue this silly thing."
I laughed as I picked up the bowl, and dumped it into the sink. I refilled the water, and then wrung out the mousie. Well, I did it as well as I could, because I think its hollow body had a pretty good quantity of water in it still.
I tossed it, and it landed near her basket, which is against the wall. She pounced on it, very happily, until her paw actually touched it, and discovered it was still wet.
She backed up, startled, and pawed it again, drawing it against herself. It skidded to a stop next to her belly, and she was COMPLETELY stymied by this thing. The next thing I knew, she had three paws up on the baseboard, trying to get away from the now-soggy mousie.
She gave me a dirty look as I sat there, giggling like a loon, talking to her in mock sympathy about the poor widdle kitty and the ferocious wet mousie.
"Well, little goil," I said, "Dat'll teach you NOT to slam dunk your toys in the water dish."
She opted to hop into her basket again, and ignore me. I shrugged, and left.
At about 3 am, I had to get up and use the facilities, and was having "fun" considering how I could get out of bed without disturbing Stormy, who was curled up in his blankie, and get to the bathroom without Phantom shooting out of there, or Stormy shooting in there, and ending up with a catfight.
Fortunately, Stormy decided he wanted sleep more, for the moment, and I didn't have a kitty comet shooting out of the bathroom. I closed the door, and looked over to Phantom.
She had been at her water dish, and I am still trying to break her of the habit of being right in front of me because I don't want to step on her and hurt her, OR trip and hurt myself.
The "Kitty Avoidance Tango" however, is NOT fun to attempt when one is having balance problems anyway due to the aftermath of a spinal cord injury, nor when one is further handicapped by being half asleep.
Phantom hopped back into her basket, and I took care of business. I tried to call her over, but she seemed occupied. I shrugged, and looked around for her mousie, but didn't see it right away. Wondering what she had done with it, I looked back over to the basket, and finally figured it out.
Phantom had put the mousie into her basket, trying to get the towels to absorb the water it had soaked up. What was really funny, though, was that she apparently thought that was too slow, and I saw her BATHING the mousie.
You read that correctly, ladies and gentlemen, she was bathing it!
She looked like a mini mama, holding the mousie down with one paw, and was licking at it, first one way, then the other, smoothing out the faux fur.
That has to be one for the record books - a kitten grooming her mousie!
originally posted by max
Here is our cat's ultimate insult to the moles she can't catch. She is Siamese [if you please and if you don't please] Her name is Sayuri but is better known as Bitty's kitty. And she has the big, the bad, Bagheera, teaching her to be the ultimate serial killer. So bitty's kitty chases the mole down it's hole and fishes around with her paw for awhile. No victim this time, so she turns around and takes a dump down the mole hole, and then buries it. I don't know about you guys, but if that was my home I would move out of that neighborhood in a hurry!! [grinning at ya]
originally posted by Trys
Ouch, if you don't get caught and eatenā¦ you get crapped on. What a deal! <bg>
originally posted by Blue
Max,
Thank you for the BEST cat revenge I have ever read about!
Would you mind too terribly if I posted it on a list of cat fanatics that I belong to?
originally posted by Clansman
Even as a dog lover, I have to admit that Max's story is one of the best I have ever heard!
originally posted by Blue
The Love Monster has struck again, only this time, I caught him red-pawed.
I was vegging out in front of the computer, playing Chuzzle at popcapgames.com. I personally think this site should be called popCRACKgames.com, because they are SO addictive but I digress.
Camas is still rather skittish around me, because of the wheelchair, and will rarely, as a result, come into my room, unless he is following Chet.
Well, I knew he was in here, because I happened to catch what I thought was part of the carpet moving. Camas likes being the camoflaged kitty this time. At the place on 27th, with the gray carpeting, Stormy had the advantage.
I looked over at him, and he looked at me, with huge eyes, as though he were terrified. I chuckled, not too loudly, and told him he was a silly kitty, and went back to my game.
Two minutes later, I heard the distinctive rattle of the door handle moving, and looked over to see Camas, who had been by the bathroom door, standing on his hind paws, trying to open that door.
I snapped, "Camas Houdini Meadows!" and he took off like a shot.
He jetted out into the living room, and was sitting down in the middle of the floor, doing his best to look innocent, even though I had him dead to rights. Chet looked up and I said, "The Love Monster has struck again."
He rolled his eyes and laughed as I said, "Don't worry honey, I'LL save you!"*
*Has anyone ever seen the old Warner Brothers cartoon, "The Abominable Snow Rabbit" where the Abominable Snowman thought Daffy Duck was a "Cute little bunny rabbit"? In this toon, the character has a distinct voice, where he says things like, "I will name him George and I will hug him and squeeze him and pet himā¦" this is the voice I used for Camas's Love Monster persona when I told Chet about the incident.
originally posted by Blue
I refer to Camas Houdini Meadows as the Special-Ed Kitty. Chet claims he is much smarter than that.
Today, another incident made the Special-Ed Kitty designation more likely.
Since catching Phantom, I have been having to get used to a kitten's mindset again. I am STILL trying to find a home for the little darling, but until I do, I have to take care of her. That means feeding her a bit more frequently than the adults, because she needs the extra nutrition.
Now as my regular readers know, Camas DID figure out how to escape from the bathroom within a couple of days of our moving in here. **I** still say it wasn't that hard to figure out how to stretch himself to full length and lean on the door handle, and open the door.
As a result of such shenanigans, Chet had to come up with a system to "lock" the door handle in place, so he could not jimmy the door. This is a simple wooden stake he bought at Home Depot, along with a dual coat hook, which slides right under the door handle, and Camas CANNOT open the door.
We usually leave the kids in the bathroom during the day, because otherwise, they would run amok and trash the place. Not an ideal situation, but these cats are pretty destructive.
This morning, however, Chet forgot to put the bar on the door.
I went to the food bucket, and measured out some food in the little tin measuring cup we use for the cat food. I took it into MY bathroom, where Phantom was beginning to sound like a little air raid siren. I was in there a few minutes, sweeping up the kitty litter sand she insists on kicking all over the place, then went back to put the measuring cup back into the food bucket.
I snapped the lid down and turned around, and saw that the bar was not ON the door. I put it on there, and suddenly heard a startled, "Mrow?" from the other side of the door.
Then Camas started his own air raid siren routine, and something REALLY funny occurred to me:
Usually when I open the food bucket, it is AFTER I have taken the bar off the door, because Camas will save me the trouble of opening the door by doing it himself so I can feed them. It had just struck him that that door had NOT been barred, and he could have been out there, with that UNSECURED FOOD BUCKET, gorging himself, had he realized that Chet had forgotten to bar the door!
Oh, was that kitty UPSET! He howled for the better part of the next hour, and kept banging on the door handle, trying in vain, to dislodge the bar.
originally posted by max
Well it's official, Bitty's kitty has trashed the neighborhood and all the moles have moved out. She hit the last home this AM. We have never had such an efficient mole remover! And no poluting chemical either. Waitā¦ I forgot raw sewage is considered pollution too. And yes Blue, you can use this story however you like.
originally posted by Blue
Stormy has made yet another INTERESTING display in his attempt to become the World's Goofiest Russian Blue.
Lately, he has been in a real crabby mood, and I can't figure out why. He will come up to me, whining as though he wants a good scritching, but as I scritch him, he will either start whining louder, or run off. If I pick him up, he will squirm like mad and escape.
As a result, he has taken to chasing his tail, in what seems to be fits of frustration. We're not talking just chasing his tail to be cute or to gain attention - no, this is a SERIOUS grudge he is holding against his butt tie.
At about nine pm last night, I went out into the living room to ask Chet something, and I saw Stormy chasing his tail again and talked to Chet as I watched.
I walked over to where Stormy was currently hunting the evil butt tie, when I noticed something odd about the movement. He was also meowing softly, as though something were wrong, and walking, not running in a circle with his tail in his paw.
A closer look revealed that he had his tail STUCK on one of his needle sharp talons of death. Not tangled up in the fur, but actually sunk into the skin of his tail.
I reached down to free it, and just about busted a gut laughing. Chet and I were BOTH giggling like loons when I got through telling him what was so funny.
To top it off, Stormy's tail was twitching, and he SWATTED AT IT AGAIN!
I belong to a cat lover's list run by an Australian woman named Flippy, and one of her regular contributors wrote a story about a cat she once had, who chased her tail with a vengeance, as though she were going to rip it off her backside. One day the kitty caught her tail, and just about scared the author half to death with the screech of pain she let out after chomping down full force on her tail. Then the cat would RUN AWAY IN SHEER TERROR from her tail, and the author said she didn't know what was harder to explain to other people - that her cat acted like that in the first place because she HATED her tail, or because she was acting like this now because she was AFRAID of her tail.
originally posted by Auna
Hahaha awesome story Blue. I tried to keep the chortling to low levels here at work 
originally posted by Blue
Puss in Box
While I am in the process, EVEN STILL, of finding the Phantom of Peasley Canyon a new home, she is returning the room and board favors with high quality entertainment.
Yesterday, after Chet had a day to rest up and recuperate from his camping trip with the Cascade Mountain Men, we had to run a bunch of errands, because supplies were getting low. One trip was to Costco to stock up on a brand of wipes that are very handy to use around the house. These things come in a cardboard box.
As I was putting things away, I decided to take the box in for Phantom to have fun with. I figured she could use it as a fortress, or whatever thrill it is that cats get out of empty boxes.
Since I had already opened the box, I decided to fold the top parts so they were solidly inside, so she could get in and out of the box easily and have some fun. I put it down on the floor and she was inside that box, lickety split.
Here's where the fun starts.
Since I was getting really cranky after yesterday's errands, Chet ordered my grouchy butt to bed to take a nap. The problem with the errands is that I am a night owl, and I was up during the time I normally sleep. As a result, sleep deprivation snuck in, and I think Chet was sorry he didn't get any supplies for his black powder rifle after all.
Anyway, I got up after my nap, and went into the bathroom to use the facilities. I had heard Phantom playing around with the box, and was hoping she was NOT into "Post modern cardboard deconstruction" as Paul put it in "The Engineer's Guide to Cats" on YouTube.
Instead, I found the box, right in front of the toilet, with the flaps outside, as if it were ready to be taped up. I had to slide the box aside in order to seat myself on the porcelain throne, and as I moved it, I heard the typical "Mrrp!" that seems to be one of Phantom's favorite modes of communication.
Phantom emerged from her little Fortress of Solitude, and pestered me for attention, which I happily granted. She really is a winning little nuisance after all.
As I was getting ready to leave, I saw her head back over to the box, and prepare to curl up in it again. However, with the flaps outside the box, she was having some difficulty.
That was because she could get her head in, but the flaps caught on her shoulders, pushing the flaps in, and as she was trying to get into the box, the flaps were squeezing her head. She kept backing out, and cocking her head, trying to figure out WHY the box wasn't letting her back in. She'd try again, with the same result. I left, snickering, and decided to check on her in a little while.
Well, about 45 minutes ago, I had to use the facilities again, and there was the box where I had left it, flaps closed. I didn't know if she was in it, because this time I didn't see any fur sticking out of the hand hold. I nudged the box with my foot, and heard the little "Mrrp," again, and knew she was in there. Only this time, she had a little trouble getting out, because the inner set of flaps are horizontal. She managed to get the bottom one down, just fine, but the vertical flaps kept the upper inner horizontal flap from opening. She would push on it, and the outer vertical flaps would squeeze it back down again.
Poor Phantom was definitely befuddled, and finally decided to "squeeze" herself under the upper inner horizontal flap. It is SO funny watching a cat do a "low bridge" because she poked her head out, crawled a little way on her belly, and rose up, keeping her back and back legs low, so she would not get clunked by the "low bridge."
I am still hearing her in there, meowing as if to say, "What's with this thing, anyway?" and clunking around with the box, and scratching at it.
Why she wants this diabolical thing, when she has a perfectly good kitty cube not three feet away, with a completely unobstructed opening, is something I don't think we mere hoomins are meant to understand.
originally posted by Carole I think all cats must love boxes.
Whenever my partner or I buy anything for our computers it usually comes in a huge box, and we then spend the next few days checking for the cat hiding in boxes.
She also has this thing about crawling onto the bed under the duvet so we have to make sure that she isn't under there before we sit on the bed!
We had to say goodbye to our beloved cat, Rorschach, yesterdayā¦he was THE BEST STAND UP AND POUNCE YA COMEDIAN, and an extraordinarily cool creature. We were fortunate to have borrowed him for 18 yearsā¦I've been a bit of a basket case, and Don, too.
His pix is in the cat line up, found on my profile page at LibraryThing, and also, at my page on GoodReads.
Handsomest Tuxedo Cat, ever.