Wishing one and all a happy and blessed Thanksgiving
(All images found on Pinterest)
“How do you tell if your cat is plotting to kill you?” Sherri asked Mitch as she set her cup down on the coffee table.
Mitch gave her a quizzical look from the recliner across the table from her seat on the couch. “What do you mean?” he asked before taking a sip of coffee.
Behind the couch, a black and white cat crouched unseen and listened silently.
“Well, it’s just, you know. Things. Things Tux has been doing lately.”
Mitch set the coffee cup on the table. He thought she was probably overreacting, being a new cat owner and all, but he felt he should humor her, so he asked, “Like what?”
“Well, he always seems to be underfoot. I have to constantly watch where I’m walking for fear of tripping over him. Even on the stairs. I can be walking down the stairs when suddenly, as if from out of nowhere, he’ll be crouched on step, almost like he was trying to trip me.”
Behind the couch, the cat’s ears perked up and he turned his head slightly towards the spot where Sherri’s voice was coming from.
“Cats being underfoot is pretty normal, Sherri. Is that all he’s doing?”
Sherri shook her head. “I’ll wake up at night, suddenly unable to breathe, and find Tux has draped himself over my face.”
Behind the couch, Tux’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like what he was hearing from Sherri.
“I’ve heard of some cats doing that, Sherri. They’ll lay there or near your head, or even on your chest. They like to feel your pulse. It’s comforting to them. It’s nothing to get too concerned over. Is there anything else?”
“Well, actually, …”
Tux didn’t wait to hear whatever else Sherri related. He padded quietly out of the room and into the spare bedroom. Crawling under the bed, he dragged out a book he had carefully hidden. “How can she be on to me already?” he muttered as he licked a paw and started turning pages. “I can’t believe it! I wonder what the book recommends I should do now…”
(images are from Pinterest)
(And I recommend the How To Tell If Your Cat Is Plotting To Kill You book, by The Oatmeal. It’s hilarious :D)
This post is part of the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, “how”:
Marcia stepped back and eyed the freshly decorated Christmas tree. With a smile and a nod, she proclaimed, “Perfect! It’s done!”
Ian stepped up beside her and looked the tree over. “It looks great, Marcia,” he said with a nod. “You did a great job. I just hope it’ll be safe with you-know-who around.”
“Don’t worry. I made sure to keep any breakable ornaments off the bottom branches. It should be ok.”
“I hope you’re right. You know how much mischief he can get into.”
“Well, he is still young, you know.”
“It’ll be fine. Now come on, we have cookies to make.”
They went to the kitchen and began making Christmas cookies. They’d just finished putting the first batch in the oven when the sudden sound of breaking glass came from the living room. With a groan, they hurried from the kitchen to go check it out.
The sight that greeted them brought them to a sudden halt. Broken ornaments littered the floor around the tree. But the most shocking sight was the back half of a calico cat sticking out of the middle of the tree, wriggling as if he was trying to get further into the tree but was stuck.
“Oh my gosh!” Marcia exclaimed “Loki! What did you do!”
A plaintive mew escaped the tree, as if saying, “Don’t just stand there! Help me!”
Ian laughed. “I warned you, Marcia! He’s good at getting into mischief!”
Marcia gave him the side-eye then told him, “Just help me get him out of there, preferably without breaking any more ornaments.”
This post is part of the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, “tree”:
(Cat meme found by Google image search)
“First thing in the morning,” grumbled Martha as she reluctantly climbed out of bed to answer the scratching at her bedroom door. “Always first thing in the morning.”
She opened the door and stared the orange tabby cat sitting there. It mewed at her and she sighed and said, “Yes, yes, I know, Garf.”
The cat walked off and she followed it to the kitchen, where she opened a can of food and dumped it unceremoniously onto a small plate. She put it on the floor in front of the cat with a mumbled “Enjoy”, then headed back to her bedroom to try to get a few more minutes of sleep.
Once Garf was finished eating, he dashed out the cat door into the back yard. There he found a clowder of cats sitting in the middle of the yard in a circle, all staring at each other. There was a space open in the circle, as if waiting for another cat to join it. Garf ran up and slipped into the open spot.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said to the assembled cats. “My human wouldn’t get out bed like she’s supposed to. I’m working on it, though. I almost have her trained to get up and feed me first thing in the morning.”
The silver tabby in the group nodded. “Good. Are you making any other progress, Number 5?”
“Some. She’s decent with cleaning my litter box and I almost have her trained with using toys. I’m still working on other aspects of her training.”
The silver tabby nodded again then faced the Siamese cat. “How is the training of your human coming along, Number 3?”
“Fairly well, Number 1,” the Siamese replied. “He also is doing well in regards to litter box cleaning. He’s also good when it comes to giving me those tasty, crunchy treats. He still insists on trying to put stupid outfits on me, though, even though I warn him off with growls and paw swipes.”
Many of the other cats nodded and commented on having similar problems with their humans.
The silver tabby looked at a Russian Blue and asked, “How about you, Number 4?”
“Not too bad, sir,” she replied. “They have finally gotten a huge cat tree for me, after all the effort I’ve put into showing them the necessity of one. And they’ve gotten a bunch of fun toys for me. Treat training is going fairly well, too. I am still working on trying to get them to let me outside more. I keeping having to find ways to sneak out to make these meetings.”
Number 1 looked around the group and asked, “Does anyone have anything else to report?”
A black cat opened his mouth, hesitated, then said, “My humans brought home a dog the other day.”
The rest of clowder gasped and began talking over one another, some offering sympathy and some offering advice, and others remarking their angry disbelief.
Number 1 brought the group under control before telling them, ” All right. I think that’s enough for today. Let’s all return home to work on training our humans for the Master Plan, and also think of way to help Number 6 with the dog problem. We’ll meet back here first thing tomorrow morning to discuss the dog. Dismssed!”
This post is part of the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, “first thing”:
Jenny opened the backdoor and stepped outside, calling for her poodle puppy Shasta to follow her. The little apricot puppy did as asked, barreling out the backdoor after her owner. Jenny’s boyfriend, Michael, followed after them. Jenny had said that poodles were a smart breed, so he was curious to see just how smart the energetic fuzzball was.
It was a pretty, sunny Autumn day, and a light breeze was blowing through the trees. Occasionally, a red or yellow leaf would drift to the ground. Jenny stood in the middle of the yard as Shasta ran circles around her, eager to play.
“Shasta,” Jenny called. “Come here!”
Shasta continued to run around Jenny while letting out small yips of excitement.
Michael chuckled from the back porch.
“Shasta!” Jenny called. “Come! Sit!”
Shasta stopped running and looked up at Jenny, her head tilted quizzically to one side.
“Shasta, sit!” Jenny repeated firmly, pointing to the ground in front of her.
Shasta stared at Jenny again, then sat down. Her rear had barely touched the grass when she spotted a squirrel in the yard by the back fence. Shasta instantly took off after it, her little barks echoing across the yard as she ran. The squirrel jumped the fence and scurried up the nearest tree. Shasta stood at the fence, barking up the tree at the squirrel.
Jenny heaved a sigh and shook her head.
Michael laughed and said, “Oh, yeah, she’s as sharp as a tack, Jenny!”
“Stop laughing, Michael,” Jenny replied. “She’s still a puppy and we’ve haven’t been working long on her training. Just you wait. I’ll have her doing all sorts of tricks.”
At the fence, Shasta was jumping up and down, trying to figure out how to get over the fence and get to the squirrel. Michael saw her and snickered. “Sure,” he told Jenny. “I’d like to see that.”
They turned and started to head inside. They didn’t see Shasta spot a pile of junk not far away that was leaning against the fence and start to make her way towards it, intending to climb up it and over the fence.
As Michael and Jenny started to head inside, Jenny called for Shasta. Shasta paused on top of the first piece of junk, gave the squirrel in the tree a brief look of longing, then ran off to follow Jenny inside.
This post is part of the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, “sharp”:
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