Life with a Three Year Old Cat
Fresh princess of bel-air. It’s been a tad bit chilly, by which I mean 50° F / 17° C — yes, yes, we are a family of weather wimps — and Junipurr has become a heated bed addict. She spends the day going from the heated bed pod to the microfleece blanket fort to the cat tower with a heat pad. I have an inkling she’s going to ring for a cashmere sweater soon. Unrelated: How do you know when you are spoiling your furbaby?
Valiant Stoic. One of Favorite Parent (FP)’s many passions is playing the piano, and lately, he has been practicing scales, arpeggios, and chorales with gusto for an hour or more each night. To minimize noise, he does so on a piano with a plug-in headset. ‘Tis true that the music is effectively filtered, but the fervent tapping conjures the image of a clog-wearing tap dance troupe. Naturally, I excuse myself to the farthest corner of the house. Not Junipurr. You see, the impassioned but “silent” piano practice happens to be in the same room as Juni’s favorite cat tree. Her resolute determination — the carefully expressionless face, the ears frozen in a confused 110° angle - to not be moved from atop her tree is nothing short of valiant stoicism. (FP, if you are reading this, please don’t stop! We support your music-making 100% ;)
Sergeant Junipurr. A closed door - ANY closed door, for ANY duration or purpose - is a declaration of war, and Junipurr has an arsenal of guerrilla warfare tactics to muscle a win. There is the Meow Them Out, a screaming crescendo that is shockingly similar to the sound of a fire alarm. There is the Push and Shout, in which the Sergeant stands on her hind legs and thrusts the door with her mighty biceps. As long as the offending door is not locked, this tactic has a disturbingly high success rate. Then there is the Air Strike for doors with some sort of platform near their knobs. Cats may not have opposable thumbs, but alas - opposable thumbs are not needed for opening door handles. Using the restroom in privacy has gone the way of the lost days of my youth …
Rebel without a cause. Sometimes, esp at the start of playing, Junipurr’s exuberance is so immense that she gallops without aim and hurtles right past the feather or mouse toy. It’s like watching a class of first graders bursting onto the playground during recess.
The Third Wheel. Speaking of playtime, one more thing: Watching Junipurr and her FP play, I get why FP is FP. In the intuitive anticipation, the precise choreography, the gaze into each other’s eyes during the nanosecond pauses, they are one. Coach and Olympian. Shifu and Panda in that dumpling training scene. Ugh, seriously why am I even in the room?
What amusing behaviors has your furbaby been serving up with lately? I would love to hear!
P.S. Junipurr's Adoption Story and daily Life With Junipurr
