Last night’s activities chez nous.
There was a time when I enjoyed needlework, crochet, knitting, amateur (very) crafts. Alas my fingers are no longer nimble.
But I still have left over bits and pieces and I decided to see if I could create a toy for the cats. Not that I planned to put too much time into something they will either ignore or destroy.
So that was my post-dinner entertainment last night.
Grant went for something more ambitious.
This hideous contraption already squashed his big toe, but now he wanted to get it downstairs.
Given the weight and dimensions of this thing as well as the angle and construction of the basement stairs, this seemed to me an unwise under-taking.
No, my input was not requested, nor my help.
But the notion of a ghastly accident taking place under my roof, especially one involving a virtual stranger, made me twitch just a bit.
It occurred to me that I should put my foot down. Ah ha, ha ha. I didn’t want the thing parked forever in my entrance way, so I took my own project to the living room and focused my attention on it for the duration.
Grant had summoned an acquaintance who duly arrived and to the sound of typical male banter, the object was moved swiftly downstairs with barely a curse word uttered.
To my immense relief.
My own project is not quite done. It needs a bit more reinforcement, perhaps an application of catnip here and there.
Our feline friends are offered nothing but the best.
Grant is forever carving up boxes in new configurations and placing them on every available surface.
This particular box appears to have become a sort of cat-confessional. Most of the cats have been in one time or another, staying but a few minutes.
Penny has been doing confession after breakfast lately though she has few sins we are aware of. Unfair use of batting her eyes at Grant, perhaps. She can get him to do anything.
Then there’s Tinkerbelle: “Chasing Sophia, chasing Patches, attacking Sasha, growling at Willow, biting the Woman…”
Willow: “Peeing on the wall, peeing on the chair, peeing on the rug, chasing Patches…”
Sasha: “Bringing a live mouse to the Man in bed, chasing Sophia, going AWOL in the garden…”
Lily has no sins to confess. In the many years she has been with me, she has never done a naughty thing which does not mean she is complacent.
She is a skinny little cat, probably because she burns energy tearing about like a mad thing. She’ll fly down a set of stairs, bouncing off the wall at the bottom and boomeranging off in another direction.
Lily can propel herself from one end of the house to the other in about 20 seconds flat. Then, as she rushes past for the third time, she may look up, if you call her name, as if to say “what?”
She’s also a very good mouser.
Has Lucy anything to confess?
“Oh Great Bastet in the Sky, I was a bit hissy about sharing the new box with Penny.”
Our other 5 little angels simply have no sins to confess.
At least none they’re admitting to.
By my calculations, that gives us just 3 “sinners”…
Perhaps I need to re-evaluate what constitutes feline “sin”….