My cat, Chicken Bone, was trying all night to look cute. The reason for it is: a bucket of KFC chicken in the fridge. Usually, the cats bide their time, sleeping in various places around the house. I think they are working for some organization, that requires them to try out everything in the house for it's potential for eating, sleeping on, playing with or defending as one's personal property. I had the first inkling of that when I bought a new baseball glove for Sonny. The glove lay on the rug. Two minutes later, Sylvie was lying next to the glove. When Chickie appeared, walking confidently into his domain (everything is his domain), and decided to investigate the glove, Sylvie quickly informed him that she was the glove's owner, by hissing, spitting and swiping at him with her impressive claws. That kind of thing happens every time there is something new in the house. Many a time we almost packed one of the cats in a suitcase, because they can't stay away from anything new that's dug out of the closet.
We now have a new TV. Whoa, you might say, the cats don't care about the TV! Yeah, they don't. They care about the low table on which the TV stands. You see, the table has two long open shelves. They are perfect for the cat-recreation! Both of them tried to fit into the shelves. Sylvie is very clumsy, for a cat. She fell out (with a thump) from the higher one. That didn't stop her from making a comfortable place to rest on the lower shelf. Sometimes, I get a nasty turn, when I suddenly notice two glowing eyes looking at me from the dark recess of the table. Chickie is a philosopher. He reconciled himself with Sylvie owenig the shelf. His new mission last night was to eat as much chicken as possible, before someone would notice and yell and stomp and make him leave the irresistible fare. A few times I caught him on the table, with his head buried in the KFC bucket. Finally, since I can't run over there quickly enough because of my tendinitis, Sonny grabbed Chickie and stuck him in his room. We heard him trying to break out of it for a long time. A few hours later, Sonny suddenly slapped himself on the forehead: "Oops, I forgot Chickie in my room!"
The cat showed up, looking at us bitterly. By then, the KFC was in the refrigerator. Chickie lay down on the couch next to me and waited. Sure enough, Sonny got hungry again soon (he eats a lot, but about every third day of the week. In between - he hibernates). Chickie is very handsome, with his mascara lines on the face, bold strokes of black across his legs and chest (as if someone painted those lines with a brush), big soulful (rascally) eyes and little tufts on his ears. He can also look very, very cute, when he wants to. He pretended to sleep, sometimes turning onto his back, to show us his soft, fuzzy belly, sometimes covering his eyes and nose with one of his paws. At the first sign of chicken in Sonny's hand, though, the cat was right there, in Sonny's face, meowing and making a nuisance of himself. He did get some morsels to eat from Sonny and also chomped down on the bones. For a long time we were afraid to give him chicken bones (and not only for the fear of him becoming a cannibal: see his own name). He convinced us that he is capable of demolishing the bones without any ill effect to himself.
Today is a new day and - a new mission. Chickie was convinced that he just must get into our bedroom. He and Sylvie are banned from it, because they explore every possible inch of the room and mess up Taka's perfect arrangement of the computers (his favorite wives), as well as many stacks of letters that he has piled up on every surface of the room, except bed.
As soon as I opened a door, Chickie, who sat right at the crack of it, tried to sneak in. I, in my turn, tried to prevent him from doing it with my new best friend - the cane. Chickie won. As soon as I felt myself swaying precariously on my poor feet, I gave up and closed the door on him in the room. Bonne chance, mon petit!