Cats. *twitch*

What can I say? 

I'm usually quite the cat person.  My cats drive everyone around me crazy but they're my girls and they make me smile most of the time.  And if the two cats living inside the house aren't enough to keep us all on our toes, I've managed to accumulate a pack of furballs outside as well.  One female, three males, and one kitten who still teleports across the neighborhood when I step outside.  Oh, and the female's sister who shows up once a month or so if hunting squirrels doesn't pan out.  As usual, Steve puts up with me and my need to take care of the poor starving mooches and his smile only falters once in awhile.  (Normally about the same time his toes find some recycled catfood.)

Then there are times when I could quite happily donate my fuzzy little angels to a local petting zoo.  Case in point:  Meet Lea.  She is, without a doubt, MY cat.  She has the perfect attitude to match mine.  Something along the lines of  "Go ahead. Tease me. I will bite your nose off while you sleep."

Today she wanted my attention.  I was occupied with the wolf I've been stitching on for going on two years.  She didn't like this.  Now, I was one of those well-behaved kids who found it impossible to walk past a bed covered in sleeping cats without taking a running leap into the air and screeching "BONZAAIIIII!" just before landing in the middle of them.  Great fun!  Unless you were one of the cats, I suppose. 

Ever hear that old addage "What goes around comes around"? 

Yeah.  Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure I heard a feline rendition of a Comanche warcry a nanosecond before 10 pounds of fuzzbucket landed right smack in the middle of my cross stitch.

~Cali, who had still been sleeping at the foot of the bed, went straight up and bounced off the ceiling. 
~My cross stitch was launched out of my hands and landed with the needle and thread dangling precariously above the floor vent which suddenly appeared to be ravenous and craving stitching supplies.
~My children stampeded (that is the perfect description of the racket those three made, lemme tell ya) down the hallway to see what all the ruckus was.
~I had an aneurysm.

Lea looked me straight in the eye with an expression that could only be described as "Betcha wish you'd just scritched my ears, huh?" and then casually hopped down off the bed and sauntered out of the room waving her tail like a victory banner.

Until I started singing "Cuz she's the waddler, yeah she's the waddler.  She leans aleft, aright, aleft, aright!" 

I don't think Lea appreciates Dion anywhere near as much as he deserves...

...and I should probably wear slippers tomorrow morning.