Friday, November 16, 2012


Scout has worked herself into a lather. I have one of those cat play wands complete with cord but missing the toy that was once at the end of the tether. I flailed it about enticingly and she pounced, grabbing it firmly and trying to haul it away to her Handball Court in the foyer.

However, I kept a tight grip on the wand and the cord slid smoothly out her teeth. We have endlessly repeated my tease, her pounce, and then her gallop away, eyes and tail high, looking like Custer streaking for the Little Big Horn. (You can almost hear the strains of Garry Owen in the air.) Only to be foiled by it eluding even her cleverest grip, as she moves higher up the cord or wraps it around a paw.

She utters a tiny high MEEP of frustration as the sinuous adder wriggles loose again. To get hands-free to write this, I pretended to throw the wand, then quickly hid it under a blanket. She missed the sleight of hand but still knows I am To Blame, and has come to search my palm, the keyboard, and even sniff my hair irritably.

She has a hot temper, that one. I am starting to think of her as choosing Rosie O'Donnell for a role model. While Dinah is pure Callista Gingrich.

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