I’m guessing y’all still remember Monster, the wee kitten I brought home a few months ago.
This little guy has proven to be intelligent, inquisitive, loving, affectionate, cuddly, talkative, and very playful. He plays fetch like a pro, and includes the amusing theater of officially “killing” whatever object I have thrown for him before proudly returning it to my feet.
He’ll do just about anything to spend a few minutes batting the drawstrings dangling from any of my hoodies and will jump into my arms when I am least expecting him to do so.
One of my favorite things that he does, though, is stalk me as I walk through the apartment and attack my legs. He never bites. He never uses his claws. He just tags me and runs away. If I don’t ignore it and buy into the game, we end up chasing each other around the house, with my victory more or less assured by the fact that I can pick him up, flip him over, and snorgle him whenever I like.
It sorta pisses him off, but he also sorta loves it.
But I guess I got complacent about that whole opposable thumbs thing. Cocky, even. Because either through sheer luck or a creepily intelligent ability to anticipate what I was about to do, Monster positioned himself in such a way that my single available move involved falling backward on my ass and landing flat on my back.
And if you think that’s bad, the fact that he jumped on my chest to drive his victory home with purring and nose boops seriously burns.
I’ve learned my lesson, little cat. Oh yes, I have. I won’t underestimate you again.