Last night from the toilet (#1, mind you) Emily asked me to open one of the doors upstairs as she thought one of the pussies was locked in there. We are closing all the doors upstairs with all the construction to minimize dust distribution. But what is bizarre is how I have filtered out those frequencies when the cats cry so I heard nothing. Yay me.
So I opened the first door. I poked my head in and put my hand to mouth to carry my voice further and said, “HELLO MULLIGAN AND LULU!” Nothing. I crossed the hall, mind you it’s about 8 feel long and opened the guest room door. “HELLO MULLI….” – Just then a sly little pussy, whose name is Mulligan rubs up against my leg. Hmmm. Sneaky bastige.
Emily was laughing from the toilet. I guess she was right about laughing at me. I was yelling and looking for them as if they were 6 feet tall and deaf. Not to mention, human.
I still don’t understand pussy cats.
And on a pussy-side-note (PSN for those in government – pronounced piss-in’) I have started a new game with ours. Our food bowls are on the landing down to the basement. So when I fill their bowl with food they poke their head through the cat door and try and get themselves between my scooper that is pouring food and the bowl. Yes, literally. Thus sometimes allowing themselves to be showered with cat food. They don’t seem to mind, but it makes a huge mess and frustrates me to no end. So I have resorted to keeping a water gun nearby. I am telling you the water gun is my savior. Bring it on, pussy cats. I’ll baptise your ass!