Cats' Christmas

We had a feline family fight a couple of weeks ago. Mom Jasmine and Mittens started a ruckus in my brother's room one night. It sounded loud and angry and serious. Paribanour surprised me by immediately leaping out of her chair and running into the room where she broke up the fight and chased Jasmine back into the living room. All the tails were bushy and all the fur was bristling for days (Paribanour gets a cool, spiky, Mohawky thing running down her spine when she's all het up). Jasmine and Mittens couldn't stand to be in the same room together and even took meals apart. They've finally gotten over whatever it was (or maybe just forgot) and have started grooming each other again. Might be the desire to share the space under the Christmas tree.

The Christmas tree is up. And decorated. So far the cats have knocked down one ornament and that was probably my fault for placing it too low. They have not been playing with the tree although Mittens has claimed the space right against the base as her nap area and both she and Jasmine take turns snuggling up around the penguins or, when they desire to not be seen, tunneling under the tree skirt.

There are a half dozen largish wreaths on the dining room table waiting to be placed and I found Jasmine curled up inside one this morning. She looked both comfortable and cute so I left her there. For now.

This holiday season kind of snuck up on us thanks to the warm weather. We've had the air off and the windows open continuously pretty much since Hallowe'en (with one exception for a week of torrential rain mid-November). The cats, for the most part, are behaving themselves around the screens and not clawing holes even when there is some animal out there in the night darkness whimpering under the mango.

Mittens, the littlest one who had the big adventure, is the exception. She's a climber and can not resist working her way to the very top of the floor-to-ceiling screen by the front door. She makes a fair amount of racket in the process whereupon I go out to investigate to find her at or above eye level, looking like one of those plush toys with the suction cups on its feet that people stick to their car windows. I look at her. She looks at me. I quietly ask, "What are you doing?" She puts her nose against the screen, looks at me again, and slowly climbs back down. Repeat every third day.

The Hallowe'en candy is gone, except for one Reese's cup I've been hoarding, and not counting the three bags my brother stored away in a closet thinking (erroneously) that they'll still be there for next Hallowe'en.

The Thanksgiving leftovers are gone, except for four containers of turkey soup, and not counting excess food that didn't get cooked and is just waiting its turn in a normal meal.

The penguins are out and the cats are (now, temporarily at least) on their best behavior.

Let's do Christmas!