Sisterly love – angels they are not always.
My lovely rescue cats, Cléa and Babette are currently NOT in my good graces.
Although they look the picture of innocence, believe me, Saturday night through Sunday
Morning was not when they were at their best.
I love my Saturday nights: even as a young adult I rarely had a date so learned early to enjoy Saturday nights for what they were – a lovely time to eat, drink, watch, read or do what I wanted as long as I wanted, knowing that the next morning I could sleep in (o.k. the number of times that actually happened can fit on two hands, still the possibility is there).
This past one started out just fine: one episode (taped) of my favorite game program: “The Chase”, followed by half of the current French edition of “The Voice” and I was tired. I had decided to shut the bedroom door as the night before Cléa had wanted to get up way too early. So far, so good: fell asleep around midnight. First excursion: a trip to the restroom around 4. During that small amount of time, they sensed the open door and were in. I managed to get back to sleep even with Cléa’s kneading. Around 5 – or in the middle of a sleep cycle – Babette must have noticed that Cléa had disappeared so up she came. She is a burrower, but once in lies companionably still: this works great in the winter, but will be less attractive come summer and warm nights. Of course, her sister Cléa can’t stand to see her enjoying anything without obliging her to share so she was back up, kneading around my head and neck. No amount of pushing had her getting the message: it was more
Me: “Cléa, anywhere but my head”,
Cléa: “But why, that’s where I prefer”
Me: “Cléa, down by my feet”
Cléa: “Not interesting”…
Drool, drool, drool, knead, knead, knead: have I met more stubborn than myself?
No amount of repetition, nor pushing had her catching on so finally I got up and put them both back out and shut the door.
Woe is me, twenty minutes later the scratching started then at 6 a.m. they decided that since that wasn’t getting my attention perhaps having a sisterly fight would: crash, bang, roll followed by more crashing and banging. You’d never know that there was carpet outside the door or did the otherwise peaceful quiet exacerbate their noise?
My peaceful sleep in was not meant to be. Round one: the cats. Round two: the cats. Round three: the cats.
Last night they were banished to the cellar. This morning they were again curled up together in the basket - a perfect picture of innocence and sisterly love.