I come home from work, wash out the cat bowl, fill it up, change clothes, and set about getting myself something to eat. After a while the cat comes downstairs (his bowl is on a funky "cat shelf" that's level with the 2nd floor but only accessible from the landing halfway up. Easy for a cat, difficult to impossible for dogs, so a great place to put the cat bowls in a household with both kinds of critters. [But I digress.]) and sometimes wants out. There's a cat door in the window, but he prefers that his staff offer to hold the door open for him while he makes up his mind. Or not to have a mind. How true that is.
Finish making dinner, sit down to eat. At some point, typically before I finish eating, in comes the cat, at about 20 miles per hour, hitting the cat door and sprinting across the room.
Chased, apparently, by his imagination.
So then he wants to play. If I dangle my hand near the floor, he'll sniff it, and, as often as not, attack.
Anyway, tonight was no exception. Leftover pizza takes not much time to warm up in the oven, so I was nearly done when he appeared. I washed up while he was telling me about his adventures. Or perhaps reciting the script for tonight's drama; I wouldn't know. I am not a cat.
Came into the living room and got out my computer, preparing to sit down for an hour or three, but that was not what he wanted. So he came tearing around the corner, reared up, went "tag!" and dashed off.
What's new about this occurrence is the lack of substantial claw extension. I think... well, I doubt, but I hope... that he's learning that clawing me is not productive.
So I towed the string (about 10 feet of 1/8" cord) around the house for a while. He loves striking at the tail end from ambush after my back is turned. Then I sat down and I could still hear him fumping around in the kitchen, striking at the string.
It occurs to me that he's made up a game of tag and taught me the rules, not so very unlike various dogs have done with various games. And that it's not so very different from tag that we played as kids.
Right down to the detail that typically childhood games of tag ended suddenly with somebody bleeding and getting washed and bandaged in the bathroom. Not tonight, thankfully.
But I figure I've got roughly 5,000 more nights to go. And many yet unscarred square inches of skin on my hands and arms.
And now, he's in seat-belt pose, across my lap, sleeping while I type. This won't do if I'm doing serious writing, but for something simple like an evening's websurf, it's not really a problem. He gets excited if there are too many wires attached, so I try to keep them out of sight. I could be, oh, I dunno, watching a DVD, if I'd thought to set it up to the point of managing it with the remote control before he settled in.
I think in some ways I'm the enabling abused spouse. We do things his way.
In other news, apparently bigthink is having a scifi writing contest this weekend; theme to be announced just after midnight eastern US time tomorrow morning. In, uh... 3.5 hours from now, roughly. If you enter, do share with us here. It'll be fun. And I think that posting in the hole where a password is required for access doesn't count as "publishing", in case they want more-or-less exclusive first rights to the story.
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