It is an extraordinary boring Sunday over here. Drowsy. Perhaps it is cold outside: our street is suspiciously quiet. Even Sherry Turtle (the kitten terror) is sleepy, she curls up next to me and lets out a sleepy purr.
Thank Godness I think to myself - at least now I can move around in the house with no panther attack of any kind. I get up and walk to the bathroom. Within a few weeks of residency, and wilder than any kitten we've seen, Miss Turtle has turned our apartment into vivid chaos. Sir Orange FlaggyTail, slightly pissed off at all the ado, has given up on parenting the crazy creature: tattle-telling seems to work better.
"Mrrrriaw! Mriaow! Mriaaaaow!" he brumbles with a dark, deep voice when Sherry Turtle swings high in electrical wires, climbs curtains and bookshelves, takes a swim in the toilet, or eats his food. He won't stop until the problem is taken care of, by US, of course. Chances are, you see, that S.O.F.T. will be attacked by this mini panther if he gives her a smack for the mischief. A bit too fat too fat to keep up with her fighting skills, are we?
But the sleep ball moved with me into the bathroom. One small lump is peacefully resting on the floor mat when I'm done brushing my teeth. I carefully sneak around her on my way to the room in the back, not to wake her.
Oh! Here, my desk is covered in laundry. How did that happen? Too many clothes to fold. I decide to escape before I feel like I should clean it all up, but stumble over no other than Sherry Turtle, asleep, at my feet as I turn. "Will you stop it, cat? I'd hate to step on you!" I moan, and move her to a safe pillow.
In the living-room, there has been ongoing hacking this weekend. The old pc shines with a new Linux foundation: Mr. Teen with pride. Apparently a new mouse, a new keyboard, and more ram is desperately needed, if I was to show my serious interest in his well being and further educational development, he informs me. Perhaps I better leave before he adds the broken Playstation controller to the list?
I make a quick turn in the middle of Mr. Teens list of wants, almost crushing, you guessed it, no other than Sherry Turtle. Miaaooo... she cries, unhappy. Is there no way to sleep next to someone in this house? "She wants crepes" says Mr. Teen, changing the topic, realizing his list is too long. "Are you hungry?" I ask him. He nods.
We wrap Sherry Turtle in a sling to get her off our feet, and begin the crepe process. Peeping into the batter, she shouts "This... this is kind of interesting over here," to S.O.F.T, who is left down there at the floor, all lonely. Cutting right to the case, "Is it lickable?" he wants to know.
So we wrap Sir Orange FlaggyTail into the sling too, but just as he settles in, he spots the floor down there and suddenly remembers being afraid of heights. Panicky, round eyes stares at Mr. Teen who captures the event with a camera.
