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Madeline and the Cat Bed
Aug. 2nd, 2009 08:54 amBefore we procured the kittens, Madeline and I went shopping to procure kitten supplies--food, litter, feathery bird-like toys, etc. One of the things Madeline picked out was a pink, cube-shaped house with a cat toy suspended from the ceiling. The thing has an opening in front for the cat to enter and exit. Together, Madeline and I imagined it would make a nice, cozy bed for them. However, having had much more life experience living with cats than Madeline, and being rather a resisting buyer--twelve dollars seemed like a lot of money to me for some foam covered with cheap cloth--I expressed doubt.
"Madeline," I said. "Never in my life have I ever seen a cat actually use a cat bed. They tend to prefer your bed, or clean stacks of clothes ready to be put away, or your brand new couch. Besides," I couldn't help add, hoping to influence Madeline to be frugal like I am, "The thing costs twelve dollars."
Madeline considered this and then delivered her decision. "They need it!" she said, and tossed it into the shopping cart.
Well, I was right. The cats never sleep in it. Occasionally, they have short-lived wrestling matches on, in, and around it, but they tend to sleep on the brand new couch or on neatly folded stacks of laundry ready to be put away with nice, fresh cat hair on everything.
Madeline, however, does often use it herself, but not for sleeping. In a most disturbing way, she turns it onto its side, puts the lower half of her body into it, and scoots along the hardwood floors in it.
"Jesus, Madeline," I said, as she scooted along behind me. "That's creepy. It's like being followed down the street by Toulouse-Lautrec, wandering the rainy rues of Paris in search of prostitutes and absinthe. Would you like some absinthe, by the way?"
"I want a vitamin," she replied, turning the corner and going on her way.
"That's disturbing," I told Malkhos. "Have you seen the way she's ambulating around the house in that cat bed?"
"She looks more like Shorty, the half-man Confederate veteran in The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly who tells Angel Eyes where to find Bill Carson's girlfriend ('a fresh young whore in the territory'), then takes his silver dollar to immediately buy a whiskey to numb the pain of his existence."
Either way, it's an odd form of transportation. "Get her a vitamin," I told Malkhos.
"Madeline," I said. "Never in my life have I ever seen a cat actually use a cat bed. They tend to prefer your bed, or clean stacks of clothes ready to be put away, or your brand new couch. Besides," I couldn't help add, hoping to influence Madeline to be frugal like I am, "The thing costs twelve dollars."
Madeline considered this and then delivered her decision. "They need it!" she said, and tossed it into the shopping cart.
Well, I was right. The cats never sleep in it. Occasionally, they have short-lived wrestling matches on, in, and around it, but they tend to sleep on the brand new couch or on neatly folded stacks of laundry ready to be put away with nice, fresh cat hair on everything.
Madeline, however, does often use it herself, but not for sleeping. In a most disturbing way, she turns it onto its side, puts the lower half of her body into it, and scoots along the hardwood floors in it.
"Jesus, Madeline," I said, as she scooted along behind me. "That's creepy. It's like being followed down the street by Toulouse-Lautrec, wandering the rainy rues of Paris in search of prostitutes and absinthe. Would you like some absinthe, by the way?"
"I want a vitamin," she replied, turning the corner and going on her way.
"That's disturbing," I told Malkhos. "Have you seen the way she's ambulating around the house in that cat bed?"
"She looks more like Shorty, the half-man Confederate veteran in The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly who tells Angel Eyes where to find Bill Carson's girlfriend ('a fresh young whore in the territory'), then takes his silver dollar to immediately buy a whiskey to numb the pain of his existence."
Either way, it's an odd form of transportation. "Get her a vitamin," I told Malkhos.
