A Tale of Three Bad Cats

Look at them… they’re clearly plotting something.

The cats are on a roll lately. It seems like a small kitten would not be that much extra cat, but Jennyanydots is extraordinarily naughty, as my sister in law likes to say. Couple Dots’ single minded determination to get into trouble with the neuroticism of the cats we already have, and it’s been, uh… interesting. Brian is fed up. I open the front door at the end of the day gleefully wondering what they’ve destroyed this time. It’s always interesting, and never what you would expect.

Last week, we didn’t close the lidded trash can well enough. Dots, through much determined sniffing, found that she could pull the bit of the trash bag that overhangs the can and ferret her way in. Evidently, tracking the recycling all over the house is not good enough. She wants the dirty stuff in the actual trash can. Preferably to eat.

This week, we got wise and closed everything down properly. But Dots thinks it was her destruction of the trash bag that led to her victory last week. I came home to find that it had snowed plastic bits in the waste alcove, and that the trash can had a red ring around it where the drawstring had fallen free. Lid still intact, though. The humans take this one. I choose not to dwell on the fact that the bag is useless without the drawstring, and it’s going to be a pain to take out the trash next time.

Anydots and Annie have been tearing all over the house after each other. Usually it’s cute.   I realized the other day, though, that they had knocked my dollhouse staircase over and broke off a few of the rails. They came loose clean, so I’ll just have to glue them back on again. Not too bad. Among things that have suffered permanently from the rumpuses are my glass bread pans, and the carved angel knick-knacks (they’re now headless). The kitchen rug is permanently askew.

I came home yesterday to find that they all preferred eating my novel to reading it. Pieces of draft pages are all over the office, mingled with shreds of paper towel. I had just picked up all the remnants of Christmas wrapping and tissue paper they destroyed a few weeks ago. And we haven’t even mentioned the collection of Brian’s black socks they have dragged all over the house in an effort to pretend they’re dead rats.

Little antisocialite Amy has decided that she will not use any box the dirty kitten is allowed to use. Instead, she prefers the dining room carpet.

They ate all of Brian’s trail mix after doing their favorite sneaky trick. They sniffed it and pretended to be uninterested so we would be careless with it. Once we were at work, they ripped the bag open, binged on the contents, and scattered seeds throughout the house.

I’m a sucker for those cats, though. I really am. Dots has the loudest purr, and she gallops onto my lap while vibrating, marching and lifting her chin for pats. She will suddenly decide that on my lap is not close enough, she must be rubbing her cheek on my cheek, charging at my face. Annie just wants to loll on anyone’s lap and be adored. Amy wants to stand close and be admired with no touching. The older cats clean each others’ faces in the morning and sleep entwined. Dots sleeps outside my door and bolts into the bedroom in the morning as soon as anyone opens it. She sits behind my double-sided face mirror and terrorizes the cat on the other side when I’m getting ready in the morning.

For purring in stereo surround sound, I would do an awful lot. Now pass me that carpet cleaner, and stock me up on super glue. I’m going to need it.