Jul 21 2003
Mauled Monday
Usually, it’s nice having the cats sleep with us. Assuming, that is, that they aren’t right on our feet, pinning down the covers, or taking up the entire pillow with their tiny, furry bodies. You would think that something that small couldn’t take up a whole pillow, but you’d be wrong. Mostly, we feel like our own little tribe, settled in for the night together.
And it’s so cute seeing them snuggled up together. Jack, the Siamese in the picture, is our worst cat (conversely, Sophie, the orange cat in the picture, is the nicest). Jack is loud and obnoxious, yet always has someone to cuddle and play with. No wonder we gave her a boy’s name, since this seems to be true of most men as well.
Yet Jack is not the cause of the striking facial accessories I have been sporting for the past couple of days. Cleo is to blame. She got spooked in the night (and she calls herself a black cat?!) and used my face for a launching pad to escape from whatever monster was after her. I have claw marks across my cheek, beside my nose, and slicing my lower lip both inside and out. I have tried to conceal the damage with make-up, but it’s as futile as if I had gone five rounds with someone and lost. I’m just hoping it will clear up in time for an important meeting I have on Wednesday.
Maybe litter boxes aren’t the worst thing about having cats after all.