Thursday, April 8, 2010
No nose
Having come down with a cold sometime on Sunday late night/ Monday morning, I have rubbed my nose to the cartilage. I can no longer tell whether my eyes water because of the cold itself or from the needle-sharp pain searing my nose whenever I wipe it.
Cats and Bunnies
The cat has set out on a sailing adventure on Lake Washington. She has cat food wrapped in one of my nicer silk scarves (the wretch). She drags behind her a cat-sized skiff made of scrap wood, with a limb mast and pillow case sail. The skiff also serves as a conveyer of the silk-wrapped food. She seems to have thought this through.
With a mournful, scornful look over her shoulder, she sets off down the hill, occasionally stopping to adjust the boat. She does not plan to return until we have changed our ways and ejected the bunny from the kitchen, better yet, from the house.
For almost a week, we have hosted the bunny in the kitchen, giving him a reprieve from the cage in the study. He likes the kitchen. He likes the attention. And he is very well-behaved and civil. The cat detests him.
She seems to have felt the last straw upon her back around 4:00 o'clock this morning when she confronted the bunny at the gate to the kitchen and received reproof from The Papa and later from me. Over tea and scones, she tried, once again, to explain to me why the bunny's existence was a sort of insult to her catness and that since she was clearly the superior animal, worthy, for example, to roam the entire house, the bunny must go. It wasn't very moving. The cat did not take the attempted talks of peace well. She spilled a spot of tea and left crumbs around the plate when she walked off in silence.
After a good sulk, she retreated to the basement. Shortly thereafter a bit of hammering, sawing, and the distinct smell of glue wafted up from the workroom. I let her have her space and was only slightly surprised by the apparatus lugged up an hour later. Upon the cat's saying she was running away, I offered to help her pack. This did not sit well. It probably explains why my silk scarf is on the way to Lake Washington bearing cat food.
She'll be back. The little prima donna.
With a mournful, scornful look over her shoulder, she sets off down the hill, occasionally stopping to adjust the boat. She does not plan to return until we have changed our ways and ejected the bunny from the kitchen, better yet, from the house.
For almost a week, we have hosted the bunny in the kitchen, giving him a reprieve from the cage in the study. He likes the kitchen. He likes the attention. And he is very well-behaved and civil. The cat detests him.
She seems to have felt the last straw upon her back around 4:00 o'clock this morning when she confronted the bunny at the gate to the kitchen and received reproof from The Papa and later from me. Over tea and scones, she tried, once again, to explain to me why the bunny's existence was a sort of insult to her catness and that since she was clearly the superior animal, worthy, for example, to roam the entire house, the bunny must go. It wasn't very moving. The cat did not take the attempted talks of peace well. She spilled a spot of tea and left crumbs around the plate when she walked off in silence.
After a good sulk, she retreated to the basement. Shortly thereafter a bit of hammering, sawing, and the distinct smell of glue wafted up from the workroom. I let her have her space and was only slightly surprised by the apparatus lugged up an hour later. Upon the cat's saying she was running away, I offered to help her pack. This did not sit well. It probably explains why my silk scarf is on the way to Lake Washington bearing cat food.
She'll be back. The little prima donna.
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