Seeking, seizing the Kingdom

“Carpetbomb” has been an endearing nickname for the feline who owns the house we live in, or so she would tell you. Her name is Chopin (pronounced “Show-pan”, like the classical composer), she is a priss, a princess, she likes to have full access to all parts of the house at all times, and whines because this open-door policy does not extend outside as well.

I call her carpetbomb because she will sit on the carpet, her feet hidden under her, and at night she places herself right in the normal path of travel to get a glass of water. I’ve tripped over her many times. This has happened in plain daylight too, with her walking in front of me, and she’ll just stop, like she expects me to follow her lead, and loud and despondent when I run into her. Do cats pick this stuff up in school or something?

She’s been working on new ways to torment me lately. Earlier this week, she barfed all over my guitar amp, apparently as she was standing on it. The slop made its way all over the knobs, the grill, and finally to the floor. By the time I found it, it was already dried on. Cleaning my amp was not what I wanted to do with that hour.

Yesterday (Sunday), I woke up to take Joy to work. I dressed, put on my shoes, and went downstairs to get my keys. Coming back to head upstairs, I noticed two very large piles of mostly-digested sludge on the carpet. I then noticed that I had stepped in it on the way to get my keys. Needless to say, this cat is not on my good list right now. I’m threatening to number her days here.