Cat Tales

Tonight we had the story of Prince BoyCat of the cheese warehouse against the hordes of mice.

Princess GirlCat had to help this noble prince win the terrible war to save the Cheddar. The mice were crafty as well as numerous. They left Prince BoyCat a red ball. He played instead of paying attention to his duties.

But it all worked out in the end.

I have this book of modern fairy tales, and one tale has a cat garden in it. I have expanded this garden. It is a carnivore's dream, and the cats love it. There are tuna-fish-can trees. Red roses made of petals of raw prime rib on stalks. The pink ones are pork cutlets and the white ones are, naturally, chicken. There is a minnow pool and a fountain with goldfish in it.

But it's not all about food. There is a catnip field. There are also tickle-vines, which droop down and then pull back if a cat grabs the vine. Grass in the sun. Shady nooks. And hmmm. I'm sure I'll think of something. Maybe grasshoppers next time.

I mean, they're cats. Their brains aren't any bigger than my hand. But they love for me to sit on the floor and say their names, the cadence of my voice, the way my hand moves like a flopping minnow or attacks a Cheddar-stealing mouse.

I have to wonder how they compute the story: here's Mama sitting on our level. She says our names nicely. She clearly has No Idea how to kill any rodent whatsoever, but hey. It's all for us.

They lay around and roll over when they hear their names.

No doubt you think I am some dotty lady with two cats. But they are so much calmer now that I have instituted the nightly story.  Before the cat tales, their tiny brains were leading them into trouble. And this big brain? Totally, utterly distracted. I am dotty like a fox.