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The dangerous sound of silence....
Suddenly, there is silence. The Mutter-Mutter-Mutter of cat monologue has abruptly ended.
You're busy, so you don't really notice that the cat muttering has ceased. After all, he does occasionally take naps. Then you hear a bit of rustling, like crumbled paper shoved across carpet. A thud follows, the sound of a dense Burmese hitting the top of the staircase railing.
He's a little hyperthyroid, so you glance over and then ignore him.
Which is just what he wants. So you don't look up at the soft rustling and thuds that follow, figuring he's still chasing that wad of tin foil you made for him. But the tin foil fell long ago, and the King of the jungle is about to let loose with his hunting cry.
AAAARRRRGGGHGHGH! The shriek of triumph!
Crash! TING! The bright sound of molded aluminum hitting the massage table leg, as the crochet hook goes flying! Does he want the crocheted piece you carelessly set down for a moment and did not return to last night? No! He's a cat!
HE WANTS YOUR STRING.
Yarn! Four skeins of yarn! And it's his, all his!
Actually, no, Merlyn, it's not yours, it's mine. (Remove yarn, hook and box from cat paws.)
Mutter-Mutter-Mutter....
You're busy, so you don't really notice that the cat muttering has ceased. After all, he does occasionally take naps. Then you hear a bit of rustling, like crumbled paper shoved across carpet. A thud follows, the sound of a dense Burmese hitting the top of the staircase railing.
He's a little hyperthyroid, so you glance over and then ignore him.
Which is just what he wants. So you don't look up at the soft rustling and thuds that follow, figuring he's still chasing that wad of tin foil you made for him. But the tin foil fell long ago, and the King of the jungle is about to let loose with his hunting cry.
AAAARRRRGGGHGHGH! The shriek of triumph!
Crash! TING! The bright sound of molded aluminum hitting the massage table leg, as the crochet hook goes flying! Does he want the crocheted piece you carelessly set down for a moment and did not return to last night? No! He's a cat!
HE WANTS YOUR STRING.
Yarn! Four skeins of yarn! And it's his, all his!
Actually, no, Merlyn, it's not yours, it's mine. (Remove yarn, hook and box from cat paws.)
Mutter-Mutter-Mutter....
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There's something in the air, here (literally, as I have just opened the windows to let the unseasonably pleasant air in and Boomer is tearing around the apartment like he's a kitten again...)
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And our lake cottage had the same decor -- my sister's black lab was in charge of emptying the wastebaskets, at least as far as she was concerned.
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