But a number of kitties own me. The latest in my crazy cat lady menagerie are the devious duo, Peaches and Cream. They remind me of the pair of Siamese in the movie Lady and the Tramp. And, in fact, are part Siamese, particularly evident in Cream. (Peaches and Cream looking down from the top of the couch).
To make amends for his exasperating curiosity, Cream touches his nose to mine in greeting, then curls beside me on the armrest while I sit on the couch with my laptop. How does anyone write without cats?
If I lean back, Cream nuzzles my head and nibbles my hair, a sign of affection in cats. At least, it is if they nibble each other’s whiskers. I don’t have whiskers, so…hair. Cream purrs delightfully, and is a most soothing companion when he’s not rifling through my purse for peppermints–loves the crackly sound of the wrappers–or stealing my lip gloss, or anything else he can dislodge. He also raids cabinets. Drawers. Baskets.
Peaches is also curious, but less inexhaustible in his pursuit of naughtiness. He’s a particular friend to our tiny pom-poo Sadie, whether she likes it or not. He’s also a willing friend to most anyone. An exceedingly sweet kitty.
‘There are few things in life more heartwarming than to be welcomed by a cat.’ ~Tay Hohoff
The two kittens together manage more mischief together than one could ever achieve alone. They shut our eldest cat Minnie Mae in the shower. I tracked down the piteous meows and freed her while they milled outside the door claiming to know nothing about it.
Their exploits with the Christmas tree are legendary. They shook it like a stiff wind blowing through the living room. Even chewed the branches and they’re artificial. Crunch. Crunch. I’d look up to see them perched in the tree gnawing on boughs. Stolen ornaments were batted gleefully about the house. We didn’t put breakables on it this year. And the Nativity scene remained safely stashed away, or wise men, camels, sheep and shepherds would’ve turned up in random places. Poor baby Jesus would have fallen victim to ‘the paws.’
The tree is down now. Peaches and Cream thoroughly enjoyed the undecorating process. Party time. They hid in the big bag we zipped the separate parts of the fake spruce in, but we found them before they got tucked away until next year. Nothing can replace the delights of the holidays, not even their stash of dingle balls, one of which they tore up. I didn’t know cats would rip the stuffing out of a ball like a dog, but they kept appearing with stuffing they were batting around. So I suspect they’re responsible for its demise, Only the dingle was left.
(The camera doesn’t do justice to Cream’s blue eyes)
Now, they’ve invented a new game that involves one kitten hiding under the braided rug before the kitchen door while the other pounces and they sail into the door. The slam sounds like someone entering, and I keep calling, ‘Hello? Dennis? Cory?” to my husband and son, or whomever I expect to discover within. Nope, it’s just two kittens going ‘Wheee!’ and leaping back and forth.
‘Everything’s a game to them,’ my granddaughter observed.
True, everything is, or should be.
‘It is impossible to keep a straight face in the presence of one or more kittens.’ ~Cynthia E. Varnado
(Image of Peaches and Cream when they were tiny)