When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro. - Hunter S. Thompson

31 January 2007


There's a large, cat-sized cardboard box from a recent mail-order delivery on the living room floor; I'm about to cut it down and take it to the recycling bin this morning.

Which is a bit of a pity, as it will put a temporary stop to the latest round of Gato's Favorite Game.

Mister Gato loves cardboard boxes; he loves sharpening his claws on them, sleeping on (or in) them, and so forth, but he *really* loves hiding in them and using them as protective cover from which to launch sudden ambushes.

boxed up and ready to go scaled
Not hiding, just snoozing.

Typical Favorite Game scenario:

(1) Cat is hunkered down in box, obscured from direct view, having squeezed through partly folded flaps. He has been there for some time, perhaps hours.

(2) Barry: "Where the hell is that cat?"

(3) (Cat, in box, quivers with delight, in utter silence.)

(4) Chow Chows, taking this as a serious inquiry and not a rhetorical question, helpfully snuffle around the living room and "locate" Gato in his box.

(5) (Cat, in box, is vibrating with sadistic anticipation at this point, still in absolute silence.)

(6) Somebody - dog or man - touches a flap of the box, at which point the cat EXPLODES out of the box, punching and swiping at the air with his front paws.

(7) Non-feline reacts with comic horror.

I am going to get videotape of this and post it. Promise.

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