The other night, Caesar and Macaroni were cuddled in 2 adjacent kitty beds on top of my bed. Per usual, Caesar’s tail was wiggling around. The out-of-control teen got that “look” in her eyes and ears and I knew there’d be fireworks — and not just the kind that have been exploding outside for the past few weeks.
“If you attack his tail again, there’s going to be trouble,” I cautioned. She just smirked and adapted her version of Flip Wilson’s old skit where he insisted that “the devil made me do it.” Devil indeed.
Of course, her forepaws kept inching closer with each swish of his tail. Caesar looked over his shoulder and gave her “the look.”
It did nothing to quell her mischief. If anything, it probably encouraged her to be even more rash. She swatted ineffectively at his swishy tail and he glared at her. It seemed to be a standoff for a few moments.
Then, having lured her opponent into thinking her an ineffective hunter, he swished a bit too enthusiastically a little too close to her paws, unaware that her body had slowly been inching closer. She moved like lightening, claws and teeth bared and caught his big sensitive tail.
He flicked it back out of the way and glared at her menacingly. She reached her paws into his kitty bed to tap the tail now wrapped tightly around his body. And this is the kind of entertainment I enjoy almost every night. Most of the time, it ends with Caesar standing up, huffing, and then jumping off the bed. The Goo-Goo girl just comes over and throws herself across my torso and does a head rollie as if to say, “there, I showed HIM!” What a brat.