My bio on all my marketing material mentions two stripey cats.
They run our house. There is a daily ritual just prior to feeding time; the duo, as if to announce that it’s time to pay attention to them, engage in an unruly round of fisticuffs that often spans the length and width of the entire house.
They knock things over, throw each other into walls, pull each others fur out, and, somehow, no one ever seems to get hurt.
Tonight was a particularly loud and violent fracas that seemed to escalate because Ashley and I were trying to have a discussion and were completely ignoring them. It got bad enough that Ashley had to get up and separate the two maniacs.
Aubree, the smaller of the two, walked a few feet away sat down to stare at Ashley, offering a gentle (ok more of a screaming) reminder that it was dinner time.
Mynx, the larger, male cat, who is only dominant when no strangers are in the house (except my mother for some reason, whom he would eat if he could get her to hold still), tried to circle around Ashley to get at his younger sister. She cut him off and shouted, “No! Go in the office!” several times, until he performed a typical magical Mynxian trick.
He laid down on the floor, stretched his legs as long as he could in front of him, think Superman soaring through the sky, and let out a low volume, high pitched, “Meeeeeeeeew,” followed by a prolonged face-rub on the nice cool tile.
Defiance at its finest.
Ashley persisted in telling him to get out of the hallway and into the office, which in turn lead to Mynx rolling over on his side and looking anywhere, but at her. This played out for what seemed like five to ten minutes before everyone decided to go their separate ways.
All I could do was watch idly, one eyebrow raised, as the striped wardens continued to run our lives.
Don’t worry, they got there dinner a few minutes later.