I break for black cats. And mine is the fluffiest spawn to walk the Earth. If the Fancy Feast cat is of the Ceiling, then ours is in the wine cellar of the sub-Basement. We used to think she was abused, but now I just think she likes the taste of human flesh. She gives off plenty of warning, so if you don’t pull back, too bad for you.
She’s also huge. I mean, not huge. We’ve had her on a diet, but it’s hard to see how it’s going under all that long, fluffy, fluffy fur.
Today, I’m giving her small portions, and she keeps begging for more. After her third ¼ cup, we lay down for the night with both fans on in our room. I’m reading and my husband is asleep. She’s been meowing for the better part of thirty minutes. I’m all NO KITTY! and NO PIGLETTE! She skitters off. And comes back with a vengeance.
Remember that movie Insidious? Remember that poop-inducing scene with the red demon, played by a read dude in make-up, behind the lead guy? The movie was lackluster until then, and I shat myself when he came on screen.
I continued reading, so I didn’t notice the silence. Not until my husband snored. I smiled and looked over and THERE SHE IS RIGHT BEHIND HIM looking at me with her huge Gollum eyes.
My cat just Insidious-ed me. She is from the depths.
So, I yelled at bit in surprise. I may have called her names. Like Creepy Ass. But it resulted in another meal and me moving the fan so she wouldn’t have her fur mussed while she was eating.
I’m not sure if I should start killing rodents to appease her or not.
One day, kibble may not be enough.