The Cat Who Stares At Postmen

Life's tough you know

Hullo ma wee blog,

Jess was in mischievous mode. She'd been a pain this morning wanting attention all the time when I have things to do. She kept me awake half the night too, tramping on my head and vulnerable bits whenever I tried to fall asleep while she was determined that I would be more usefully employed as a cat masseuse. Each time my hand stopped for more than a moment she would nudge it, slide a nose under it and try to force it back into its position on her neck and shoulders. If this was unsuccessful she would stand and walk meaningfully up my side to look me in the face where she would decide whether to walk on my head or just apply a judicious splat with a splayed paw. Once or twice she rested her paw on my cheek as if to remind me that she could just as easily be doing this 'with' claws as 'without'. Sometime during the night my groans and pushing her down the bed had won the battle if not the war and she had settled herself down to reserve her strength for another time.

Her attentions in the night ensured that I too slept through my normal 4am sojourn to the coffee pot and now here I was at a much more reasonable time, sitting by the computer at the kitchen table checking mail, drinking coffee and checking out my blogger pals latest posts. Jess was occupied in the hall where I could hear her tearing around after the orange coloured ball she was trying to destroy. I heard the sound of claw on carpet giving acceleration to a furry body and the collision with an object that was ultimately too difficult to keep pinned down, the frantic scrabble to recover it leading to the next headlong charge the length of the hallway and the sound of that same ball being batted against doors and skirtings up and down the place. There was a moment's silence and I looked up to see Jess come proudly into the kitchen, chest heaving, tail high and with a wild look on her face that told me she had enjoyed the chase. She looked at me for a second with that same wild look before suddenly turning and going into a crouch, a quiver running from shoulder to tail and she was off again in a manic dash back through the door to give the poor ball yet another doing.

A few minutes later she came back yet again with that same gleeful air of  'That showed it who's boss!' and slumped down on her side on the kitchen carpet,  raising a leg to get to that irritating hair that needed to be licked flat. Job done she stretched out, the last two inches of tail flicking behind. As I watched, the tail kept up its excited flicker in contrast to the seemingly comatose feline it was attached to. A moment later a noise attracted her attention and she raised her head and shoulders until she lay there like a mini-me lioness in the midday sun, ears pricked and a study of concentration on her face. At the bird feeder outside the kitchen window three or four sparrows were noisily negotiating a pecking order for the seeds du jour. Although she could hear the commotion she couldn't see the bird feeder as the breakfast bar was in the way but in a fluid motion she was up and pressed against this side of it as she made her way swiftly to the corner for a peek. In another second she had gone behind the vegetable rack and was crouched down behind that toolbox I really should have put back out into the shed by now where she watched the birds for a while. Once she was sure they hadn't spotted her and were engrossed in their argument she slinked out over the top of the toolbox and, still pressed against the floor, worked her way around the edge of the cooking area under cover of the units until she was able to sit directly below where the feeder was located. Another moment or two of Zen-like mind control and she quivered her tail, lowered her shoulders and, using the not inconsiderable power of her hind legs, launched herself up onto the work surface where in one complete move she thrust herself at the window aiming to scare the bejeesus out of those bloomin' sparrows.

Unfortunately by the time she'd done this our friendly postie had her face to the window to give me a cheery wave good morning and they ended up nose to nose at the window. I really don't know who was the most surprised. Was it the postie who disappeared in a wave of expletives and discarded letters? Or was it Jess who seemed to explode into a giant, hissing furr-ball, do a complete back somersault off the worktop to land less than gracefully on the tiled floor before tearing off out of the kitchen door at a velocity just below the speed of sound.

Honestly, I have no idea.

Hasn't half been quiet around here for the last couple of hours though!

Result!


Listening to