I was going to write you all another sappy post about how much I’m in love with my novel in edits, but even I can’t take the syrupy sweetness anymore.
So let’s talk cats.
Long ago, I decided that cats are something of the villains of the pet kingdom. I have two cats and two dogs. My cats are Puck and Gimli (Underfoot Toe-Slayer), and they rule the house with an iron fist of tyranny.
Despite having two 70lbs dogs, scraps go to the cats first (because the dogs are afraid of the cats!). The dogs sleep in the cat beds, while the cats luxuriate on the expansive doggy beds. The dogs tiptoe around Puck, knowing that if they look at her askew, she’ll rearrange their faces for her own enjoyment.
|You think I'm scared of your cage?|
Puck is the epitome of a cat in need of a diet, weighing in at 14 (!) pounds. She’s a Russian Blue, but we got her from the pound. Russian Blues were bred to take down small game, a heritage she delights to remind us if we ever let her outside (which we stopped doing when we noticed how nice the coyotes in our neighborhood looked!). Puck embodies the brutish sort of villain, the street tough. I’ve seen her pick fights with the dogs because they had the audacity to breathe in her general direction. She’s like a mobster thug: she doesn’t say much, but when she does, you know you’ve had a talking to. I once read a bunch of cat Haikus, and this is the one that describes puck best.
“Rule for today,
Touch my tail, I shred your hand.
New rule tomorrow.”
Gimli Underfoot Toe-Slayer on the other hand has a somewhat more subtle approach to villainy. I suppose this could have something to do with his diminutive stature tipping the scales at a whopping 7 lbs (between the two of them, we’re doomed for finding a cat diet to fit the needs of our house, erg!). His philosophy on life boils down to: “All your teas are belong to us.”
|This is my hoomin. Git ur own.|
He’s a thief. He doesn’t pick fights with the dogs, he snuggles up and sleeps with them, then steals their food once they fall asleep. There isn’t a horizontal surface of the house that hasn’t been climbed by him, and he colluded with the dogs to commit house-plant-murder. Then he made the evidence look like a dog had done it when he cleaned all the dirt off his fur by rubbing it on the dog.
He does get himself into trouble from time to time, so I don’t think his villainous plans are well thought out. He’d be the kind of cat burglar with the elaborate plan to get into the vault, but no idea how to get out. Sometimes I wonder if he’s a little more like Captain Jack…
His cat haiku is
I leap into the window.
I meant to do that.”
And how about you, got any outrageous my-cat-opened-the-door and let all the chickens out of the henhouse stories?