I know I shouldn’t laugh – I really shouldn’t – but it was just so darn funny!
Ms. Skittle is my rescue cat. She’s a tiny longhair who appears to have been the runt of her litter, and looks part common tabby, and part mane coon. She is quiet, cuddly when she wants to be, and cute as can be. I’ve had her for just over seven years and she was a crying, shivering little bundle of fur about six weeks old when I found her balled up in a pile of leaves in an abandoned apartment patio.
Then there is the Jazzy cat. We got Jazzy on 9/11, 2010. That date should have been a warning to us. Her favorite pastimes are sleeping, knocking over glasses of water, sleeping, eating the mutt’s food, sleeping, cutting some really nasty cheese, and sleeping.
Did I mention sleeping?
Ms. Skittle, matronly, mature beastie that she is, does not approve of the little upstart.
I say little only in the sense of age. We were informed when we got the little dear that would be two in November. The vet confirmed this, and she was about four feet long toenail to the tip of her tail fully stretched out and skinny as a rail. I thought she looked like a door sock – you know one of those things you put on the floor to block a draft under the door?
We’re pretty certain her breed is Ninja Farting Cat.
This week, she discovered that she, too, can use the doggie doors. At first we considered this a problem but were relieved of this concern because she always found her way back in, and when she’s outside, she drops her loads of hazmat materials outside. This is a good thing.
Today she discovered her true cat-ness, and brought her pet human (Linda) a gift from the great outdoors: a very frightened three inch long Cuban brown anole. They’re perfectly harmless, and the Jazz Cat didn’t hurt it, but it totally freaked Linda.
Jazzy is grounded from the doggie door indefinitely.