Last Night My House Was Hit By A Tornado – A Cat Tornado
Funny story so typical of my house…
“Your cats are just like your kids who are just like you and C (my husband) – kind of wild,” my parents always say. And it’s true. This is just more proof.
Last night, a strange cat came to our front door, peaking in through the side window. It wasn’t Kevin’s cat, if you know that story. It was some other grey and white spotted furball. I noticed him sitting there just as I was locking up for the night.
As it is that my own cats follow me everywhere when I’m at home, our littlest one – Cleo – was the first to notice the feline foreigner. When the strange cat pawed at the glass – saying hello, in my estimation – Cleo began freaking out, moaning like the devil, and hissing every few seconds.
Of course, my other cats where there as well – in a line down the hall, one after the other – the configuration of which is exactly why all hell proceeded to break loose, a whole series of events set into motion that was straight out of a movie.
Lionel came up behind Cleo who was moaning and hissing and peering cautiously out the window. Startled and scared already, when he brushed up against her, she jumped about four feet in the air, and then landed back on top of him in a flurry of growls and scratching and more hissing, The ball of rolling cat-fight then blew down the hall, bumping into Archie who also jumped straight up and landed amidst the commotion. Now there were three cats fighting and hissing and scratching and wailing.
The cat tornado continued on down the hall until it struck Jackson – who walks around scared of his own shadow most of the time anyway – and he nearly hit the ceiling. Then there were four cats all freaking out, running this way and that, the fur flying in every direction. It was cat insanity at its highest level.
Ten minutes later – the stranger cat shooed away from the front door – things had settled down somewhat. Cleo ended up in our bathroom upstairs, sitting on the counter shaking and hissing at herself in the mirror. Her one pupil was bigger than the other, and I was convinced that she’d had a stroke. My husband said that I worry way too much, and that she was fine. Whatever, she sat at the end of our bed all night – vigilant – waiting for any more whiskered intruders. None ever came, obviously. As if I’d let a strange cat into our house.
Poor little girl. She had a really rough night. As for the other three – while freaked out at the time – they seemed to take the whole event in stride afterward.
Today things are mostly back to normal. Cleo’s stroke must’ve fixed itself. Her eyes are better, just like my husband said they would be. Smart ass.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some turkey to devour. And pumpkin pie. I can’t forget the pie.
Happy gobble gobble everyone, at least to my Canadian friends.