Didge and I have been crashed in the living room while getting our bedroom ready to move from upstairs to down, and our living room is right by our kitchen. (We have a townhouse with a fairly open floorplan.) This morning I received great encouragement to finish this process so I can sleep in a room with a closed door again; television, video games, radio, all that I can sleep through. Hell, I can sleep through phone calls, alarm clocks, epic thunderstorms, and all kinds of lawn equipment. What I cannot sleep through, however, is the results of what happens when two cats who hate each other try to occupy the same space at the same time.
Six damned thirty a-damned-m, people. It was still dark out. In an explosion of mowling, hissing fury, Foot Foot and Foster decided to rumble in the kitchen - about seven feet away from my slumbering head. Mid borderline heart attack, I bunched down under my covers and pulled my pillow down to protect my head - it sounded as though they were right beside me. Totsi went into protecto-mode, and Didge? Didge sat bolt upright and shouted, "GOD DAMN IT!" at the top of his lungs. I made my way out of bed, grabbed the water bottle, and chased Foot Foot up the stairs (where I then fed her to make sure she stayed put) - Foster was on top of the refrigerator, looking completely freaked out. She stayed up there for about two hours.
And Foot Foot? Oh, Foot Foot didn't stay put. In fact, she's had quite the series of spray bottle baths since then. She's been making passes through the living room, and has blatantly tried to get into the papasan with Foster, who finally decided she felt safe enough to come down, repeatedly. I have a pain in my hand from working the spray bottle, I swear.
So, good morning, Square One. It's so nice to see you - - again.
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