So I’m typing away at tonight’s blog, at I look up at the TV. It has a tail. A big, fluffy, Main Coon type tail. “Obi,” I say, “get out from behind the TV.”
The tail disappears. No cat here.
But then the TV grows ears. And a paw inches up toward the antennae hanging on the wall.
“OBI. GET DOWN.”
The ears and paw disappear. No cat here.
Oliver arrives from the other room and cries. Obviously, if someone is in trouble, it is him. He’s not aware of doing anything wrong, but he is always the one who gets yelled at.
The paw goes up toward the antennae again. I stand up. It’s a clear indicator that I mean business. Oliver cowers under the coffee table and whines.
“Oh. BEE.” The tail reappears. Followed by two feet up on the books next to the TV. Followed by the rest of a brown kitten. I have to clap my hands and take a step forward to get him to jump down from the mantle.
For the record, Obi is allowed on the mantle but he’s never gotten behind the TV before. He’s up there now, looking out the window. And glancing over to make sure that he’s not in trouble. Obviously he has crossed a line somewhere and needs to figure out where it was.
Oliver is snuggled hard into my side.
He’s not in trouble either, right Girl?