Holy hell, we're at a complete loss as to what to do about these cats. They had their worst fight to date yesterday completely out of the blue, Foster (the older one who came later) suffered a cut paw and camped out on top of the refrigerator for a few hours. Foot Foot (aka Satanico - because she is the Satan Calico) jotted all about the house, simultaneously taunting, stalking, and celebrating. And it's not over. The sound of Foot Foot dashing all around the house woke me this morning - she had Foster corralled on the couch by doing so, and was really enjoying herself.
Right now, Foster's back on top of the refrigerator, and I can hear Foot Foot's bell jingling merrily in another part of the house. Didge and I kind of have to stay on high alert with these two, but we're both a tad more focused now - already, he's had to chase Foot Foot away from the base of the fridge. Twice. (Second time this morning just happened.)
(Make that three times. Yes, the third time just happened. Didge and Totsi the ever-patrolling dog just had to send her down the hall and back up the stairs.)
In two days, Foster will have been with us for three months. Something tells me this isn't going to get any better than it is right now - frankly, the only time we get a break is when Foot Foot is asleep. As much as I keep telling myself I should no longer be surprised, Foot Foot's tenacity and capacity for sheer defiance is becoming alarming. (She does not always trot off when told to leave Foster alone. Half the time, she sits and glares.)
So, good morning! I was going to write about other things, but the kitty cat battles shoved everything else out of the writing portion of my brain. Instead of brainstorming for blog entries, I'm going to do a little more digging into what might help with situations like ours. It's either solve the problem, or secure a Xanax prescription.
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