Cats' Play

During my recovery, I spent most weekdays by myself. My companions were Rosie and Peanut. Whenever I wept, Rosie would nudge my hand and jump into my lap. Peanut decided my good leg was a nice place to take his daily naps. The temperature was (and still is) cold. I enjoyed the warmth of their fur when they'd lay at my feet. They had such a calming effect on me, I found myself talking to them more than I should. While I still talk to them, the words I've been using lately involve more expletives than praises.

It started innocently enough and at first, I didn't even know it was the cats. I began to notice single socks in the wash and blamed the girls for not putting pairs into their hampers. At last count, I had nineteen single socks. Last week, I read an article about a cat that would prowl his neighborhood at night and steal small things. Could my felines be kleptomaniacs, too? I started searching the house and lo and behold, under Katie's bed I discovered a veritable array of cat-loving treasures. Socks, Barbie clothes and toys, hairbows, ribbons, washcloths, underwear, and even a stolen pack of catfood.

I'd caught them earlier with a pack and moved their food to the top shelf. Now I know anything in my sight is within their reach. One of Peanut's favorite places to await a sneak attack is from atop our refrigerator. How could I have thought their food was out of reach on the second shelf. After they ripped open a giant bag of dry cat food, I placed it all in a large plastic tub with a lid. If at first you don't succeed...knock it off the shelf and watch the food spill out. No, I'm not starving my cats. They are, I imagine, the best fed cats in Asia. Bored? Not possible. Between the Barbies and the socks, grand furniture to sharpen their claws, wooden floors to slide upon, plants to shred and eat, and closets in which to hide...from me when I discover their presents left behind in the much too small litter box, there is plenty for them to do.

Friends back home, Meredith and Mike, have two cats that like to drink water from a running faucet. Odd, I thought. Not as odd as Rosie sitting outside the shower waiting her turn. As soon as I exit, she enters and sits under the dripping water. When the twins take a bath, Peanut sits on the ledge just waiting for me to give permission to let him jump in. I draw the line with that one. So, he sits until they get out and the water is at a couple of inches. Seriously, aren't cats supposed to hate water? Rosie watches at sink side as I wash dishes, while Peanut hops into the washing machine until I am finished folding clothes.

All of the acts continue to no one's fault but my own. The havoc and mayhem they wreak upon the household is of my doing. Even as I write this, Rosie is laying by my head, pawing and chewing my hair. However, not unlike my girls, they make me smile more than they make me frown. Guess I'll have to research the cost and involvement of transporting pets overseas. In a few more years, the thought of leaving our Chinese kitties behind will be unthinkable.