Every now and then my blog stats take a little stroll through the archives, and today they dug up this gem from 2013. I had completely forgotten about it ā back when the household was ruled by Buddy, Smoky, and Rocky.
If you think Banner and Balboa invented chaos, mischief, and dramatic flairā¦ oh no. Theyāre simply carrying on a proud family tradition with great enthusiasm.
Enjoy this blast from the past ā proof that my life has always been run by cats.
What are these cats thinking? Part 1
Morning Rituals and Demanding Cats
Itās just another day in the life here at the old homestead. 3 cats, 1 human.
Stepping out of the shower Iām greeted by my āBudā. Buddy has figured out that after the shower comes the hair dryer and he loves to haveĀ a blow dryĀ to start the day.Ā A handsome fellow like Buddy has to look his best.
Senior Cat Smokey, aka Mr. Cranky Pants continues his demanding ways. Iām working, Buddy and Rocky are sleeping but whatās that sound? A soft pitiful meow! Looking around I see a small bundle of gray fur curled at my feet, big eyes staring intently, āmeowā.
Only the tiniest of sounds. I ask whatās wrong and a paw reaches out to tap my leg. I stand and he uncurls, heading for the feeding station. Oh my, his bowl is only half full. Surely he will starve to death before itās time for dinner.
Chaos on the Staircase
The laundry is on the first level. My condo, on the 2nd. As I open my door, arms full of clean clothes fresh from the dryer, a black and white streak nearly bowls me over and scoots down the stairs.
Dry laundry gets tossed onto the couch as the chase begins. A black tail with a white tip darts around the bottom of the stairs and disappears around the corner. Hitting the last step, the turn is sharp ā just in time to see that tail vanish again at the far end of the hall.
I race down there. I donāt want Buddy running into one of the dogs that live here or being let outside. As I round the last corner I see ā¦nothing!
My heart starts to pound. Slowly I begin climbing the stairs on that end of the hall. First flight, nothing, 2nd flight and there he is, sitting there on the landing, waiting for me.
I pick up his Majesty and cradle him in my arms. Back down the 2 flights of stairs, back down the long hall and back up the last flight to my unit.
I open the door, set the errant one on the floor and close the door very fast.
Laundry Folding: A FullāContact Sport
I return to the couch to start folding the nice , warm, cleanĀ clothes only to find Rocky has made a nest and is curled up on top of the pile. Now every time I try to pull out a towel or shirt or sock I have to unhook his possessive claw. I try to shoo him away but he only digs in harder. He doesnāt give up until the last item is folded. Then he stalks away, annoyed that his warm bed was āstolenā from him.
The Basket Bandit Strikes Again
I turn to put the folded clothes in my basket to carry them all to be put away and come face to face with his Majesty again. This time heās taken up residence in the clothes basket.
I give up leaving him to play jail bird in the basket while I carry the Ā stacks of folded clothes to the bedroom. Finally, everything is put away but they arenāt done with me yet.
Some things changeā¦ but cats being cats? Thatās forever.
