Comedy Club

The funny thing about cats is that they don't think they're being funny.  Ask any cat and they'll respond in a typical stoic way.  Ralph and Celeste, my own dynamic duo, crack me up all the time.  They play hide-and-seek, ambushing each other from behind the curtain in the shower stall.  That, in itself, may not sound very funny.  You'd have to know it is a clear plastic curtain to find the humor.

Celeste continues to herd me into the kitchen every morning for treats.  Now, however, she thinks any time I go in there should be treat time.  "Wrowr?" in her tiny cat voice.  "No, Celeste, you had treats already."  "Wrowrrr," (pitiful cry as she winds around my ankles).  "No, I said."  "Wrowr!"  Ralph lets Celeste do the talking for the pair, waiting around the corner to see if she's successful (and I'll admit sometimes she is).

Except for the one time Ralph slipped out an open door and panicked to get right back in the house, neither cat has been outside.  That doesn't stop them from threatening any bird that comes close.  It's one thing when it's a sparrow on the deck rail.  It's quite another when they "kek kek kek," tails flicking, at a huge turkey in the front garden.  They had a chance to practice their kill skills a while back when a praying mantis came in under the screen door.

Ralph seems to have a species identity crisis.  When he sits on my lap, he'd rather have his belly rubbed like a dog than have his back stroked.  In my experience, that's unusual for a cat.  He's pretty insistent about it, adjusting his body so my hand is in the right place.  Go figure.

(I got another five this morning, hoping for four of a kind,)