Of catacinnos and screen doors slamming
So if I wasn't convinced before, I am completley convinced now that my cat has some how gotten it's self a caffine addiction.
It started around Feburary; I'd let Cecily out for her daily run around the garden and was just letting her back inside when I noticed it. Cecily had come back smelling of coffee.
A very milky, sweet coffee none the less but distinctively coffee. Almost as if someone had very thoughtfully left out a bowl of warm milk, and added a tiny amount of coffee and sugar to it, to give the cat a very weak coffee. Or a catccino as I have come to think of it.
So ever week or so the cat will come home smelling of coffee, and on one memorable afternoon tea. Which doesn't sound that bad, and I can tell you there is something relaxing about lying on the couch with your cat the faint smell of a good cofee lingering in the air. What isn't relaxing is dealing with the cat the next day.
Cecil is usually the most doctile little thing, more a bundle of purr than amything else. There was one night where I had picked her up so that she wouldn't run outside as my dad came in. Dad's entered, and as he walks past, me holding the cat, gives the cats tail a yank and she starts purring!
Cecil when she is in want of caffine is not so doctile. Usually if she want's to be let out she will sit at the door cock her head at you and give a little squeak. Cecil in want of coffee will sit there and howl for you to let her out, as if the world depends upon her release. Normally if you ignore her request to go outside she'll follow you around the house sulking till you finnaly cave and let her outside, giving out little squeaks here and there as little reminders that she wants to be outside. Cecil in want of cofee if denied freedom will throw her little body at the screen door, and open it with her momentom.
I've played with a few theories as to where the coffee is coming from; each making sense, but about as much sense as primary school me convincing my best friend that the old woman on my street was witch. Based entitrely off the fact she lived by her self and one morning as we were walking past had left a broom leaning agaisnt the side of her house which just so happened to be the side of the driveway.
RARW, ME IN KATOFLAGUE
It started around Feburary; I'd let Cecily out for her daily run around the garden and was just letting her back inside when I noticed it. Cecily had come back smelling of coffee.
A very milky, sweet coffee none the less but distinctively coffee. Almost as if someone had very thoughtfully left out a bowl of warm milk, and added a tiny amount of coffee and sugar to it, to give the cat a very weak coffee. Or a catccino as I have come to think of it.
So ever week or so the cat will come home smelling of coffee, and on one memorable afternoon tea. Which doesn't sound that bad, and I can tell you there is something relaxing about lying on the couch with your cat the faint smell of a good cofee lingering in the air. What isn't relaxing is dealing with the cat the next day.
Cecil is usually the most doctile little thing, more a bundle of purr than amything else. There was one night where I had picked her up so that she wouldn't run outside as my dad came in. Dad's entered, and as he walks past, me holding the cat, gives the cats tail a yank and she starts purring!
Cecil when she is in want of caffine is not so doctile. Usually if she want's to be let out she will sit at the door cock her head at you and give a little squeak. Cecil in want of coffee will sit there and howl for you to let her out, as if the world depends upon her release. Normally if you ignore her request to go outside she'll follow you around the house sulking till you finnaly cave and let her outside, giving out little squeaks here and there as little reminders that she wants to be outside. Cecil in want of cofee if denied freedom will throw her little body at the screen door, and open it with her momentom.
I've played with a few theories as to where the coffee is coming from; each making sense, but about as much sense as primary school me convincing my best friend that the old woman on my street was witch. Based entitrely off the fact she lived by her self and one morning as we were walking past had left a broom leaning agaisnt the side of her house which just so happened to be the side of the driveway.
RARW, ME IN KATOFLAGUE