It Was Raining Cats

You may remember that I woke a few days ago with a sharp attack of euphoria. In fact, I've never known a sharper one. This morning, however, was much different. The sharp attack that woke me involved scimitars and sabers. Actually, it was scimitar-curved claws and saber-sharp fangs. 

The source of the attack was the foster kitten, Eddy, who has been perfecting his stalking skills to match his killer instinct. He's been seen hanging in the corner with Abbie Hoffman, a bad influence if ever. No, not that A. Hoffman! I refer to the cat in formal dress known on the street as Abracadabra.

Eddy (L) and Lucy (R)

It was Eddy, you will remember, who once got me in the fleshy part of the toe, causing me to shoot six inches off the mattress. It's not an easy feat starting from the prone position. My convulsions shook him loose but left him giving me the eye with an expression on his map like that of a Baptist deacon rebuking sin.

"Poopsie," I said. No response.

"Ms. Wonder," I said louder.

"Whumpf?" came the muffled response from nearby.

"Will you please chorral your cat?" I said.

"What?" she said. It occurred to me that she wasn't demonstrating her commitment to our vows to stand by in thick and thin. Could it get any thicker?

"Eddy is what I mean. Will you get him off me!"

"I'm asleep," she said.

At that moment, I realized that Eddy's behavior had attracted the attention of his sister, Lucy, an accomplished little foot ninja in her own right. It could get thicker after all.

"Do you have a towel handy?"

Wonder stirred from the depths of the bedding, raised her head, and asked, "Why would I have a towel?"

"I remember the time you captured another foster kitten in that you-can't-do-that-here manner by using a towel in the way some Roman gladiators used a fishing net. Remember?"

"I don't have a towel," she said. "And it wasn't a fishing net."

And so there I was, Heir of the Ages, one of the highest expressions of life on earth, and I was being chivvied by one of the lessor. If you are a member of the Inner Circle, you will no doubt recognize this as another example of a tiger living like a goat. I mean where is the benefit of being human when you're constantly being harassed by kittens?

{rompt steps through the proper channels were called for, but it's never as easy as it sounds, is it? I remember something from my senior year in high school--a Shakespeare play I'm sure, that went something like this:

Between the first thought of doing something dreadful and the actual doing of it (some guff about the genius and mortal instruments came next and was followed by:), there is often a revolt in the kingdom or words to that effect. You may remember the exact quote.

Although I didn't remember the wording, I knew the feeling well. My genius, if I can call it that, knew what had to be done, but my arms were not happy about it. I just remembered another gag that may better explain my situation: The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. That's the baby.

I'd have preferred to go back to sleep. But after those early moments of hesitation, I took action. I threw the coverlets back to get out of bed but the unintended result was that it began to rain cats. It was a sight to see, let me tell you. 

The heavier elements, Beignet and Sagi, were only rolled inches from their sleeping spots. Lucy was hidden by the duvet. Eddy flew through the air like the daring young man on the trapeze. He came to earth--I should say to rest--at the far corner of the bed. I caught him as he turned to flee, and decanted him into the Saigon room for safekeeping.

"That cat should be bedded in the stables," I said to Ms Wonder. "You and I can care of ourselves but consider what might happen if Eddy discovered a housemaid napping. I don't like to dwell on the aftermath, do you?"

But Wonder wasn't in sight. I heard the bathroom door close and seconds later the sound of running water, similar to Looking Glass Falls filled the silence.

Uma Maya the brindled little Empress of Chatsford was surely in the sale de bains with Wonder. Eddy was safely confined to the Saigon room. Lucy was probably hiding underneath the bed. Beignet, the ginger and white ragamuffin, and Sagi, the caramel-colored tabby, were at my feet looking up at me to ask, Breakfast time? 

Abbie was absent, but I expected he could be found in his usual spot atop the kitchen cabinets. Suddenly, I was acutely aware of the tie that binds and the words of a close friend who often says, "The family we choose is the most pleasing."

Looking down at the two cats sitting at my feet I said, "Stand by to counsel and advise." I didn't need to say it, but I wanted to say it for reasons that words fail to describe--we were a tribe. Wonder, the cats, and I were the Chatsford Hall Tribe.

And the tribe has provided just what I needed, in the fullness of time.