Evil Ellie and the wooden blinds
Oh yes. She may look cute but underneath that sweet furry little body beats the heart of a complete psychopath. Trust me on this - I know.
We have wooden blinds in our living room. 6 foot long, and made of pine. Expensive, but really lovely. To avoid feline temptation, the strings are securely fastened out of the reach of even the most acrobatic cat (read Harvey). The cats have been trained to push around the blinds to get to the windowsill as opposed to going through them. Training involved water guns, biscuits and time in the bathroom for bad behaviour.
Going through them caused the demise of the previous blinds. A fight between Harvey, Frankie and the blinds led to their complete destruction. Every single slat was broken and as the fight drew to a close - when the Baron came hurtling downstairs, the entire blind fell down, taking chunks out of the newly decorated wall.
We avoided getting any window hangings for a few weeks after that; it seemed a waste of effort if the cats were going to rip them out. Clearly the cats had different taste in blinds than we did, and until this was resolved it was pointless to buy anything else. But after several evenings of impertinent youth peering in, we relented and bought the above mentioned beauties.
The cats seemed to like them and all was well. True, Frankie did bite the edges when he was teething, and one slat was partly broken when Frankie got scared on the windowsill and tried to run away, forgetting the cardinal rule of around and not through. But on the whole, we all managed to co-exist happliy.
Until the arrival of Miss Ellie.
She had us fooled for a while, by copying the boys and going around them (as soon as she had the courage to venture up on the windowsill). She liked to bat the strings (and Frankie wasn't averse to it either), so we secured them. But she left them alone. The 9 fake mice that live on the floor were her preferred prey.
Today she showed her true colours - she isn't just a tortie, she has a heart of purest black.
I was upstairs "working from home" (remember that working from home is often code for hanging around certain forums and generally not doing very much productive - not always, but often). All was quiet. The boys were outside - Frankie skulking around the bushes, and Harvey wandering into neighbours houses to steal the resident cats food. Ellie still refuses to go outside, and was amusing herself downstairs with her favourite toy mouse. Or so I thought.
I saw her walking across the top of the sofa going towards the windows. Now Miss Ellie might not like going outside, but she likes to sit on the windowsill and soak up a few rays. So I assumed that that was her plan - it was a lovely warm day today. I was wrong. Instead, she hurled herself at the blinds and hung on for dear life to the top slats whilst trying to bat the twizzler around (you know, that thing that determines the angle of the slats). I yelled at her to get down, but this is Ellie. No isn't a word she likes, ergo no is a word she chooses to ignore. Ellie isn't a big cat at all, but she weighed just enough for a slat to snap off with a predictable and sickening snap.
She looked at it as if to say:
"I wasn't expecting that at all, but what fun! Something new to play with" and proceeded to pick it up and roll around with it.
Naturally I ran downstairs (narrowly avoiding falling over the discarded mousie) and retrieved the remains of the slat. I don't smack the cats, but I felt that Missie needed some punishment, and so I put her in the bathroom for some time out alone. From long experience, I removed the toilet roll (Harvey as a kitten spent a lot of time in the bathroom for bad behaviour, and more than once I was greeted with a snarling beast, a shredded toilet roll and a most unrepentant glare) and tightly screwed on all lids.
I told her, sternly, that I would come back in five minutes. I don't know why I told her, I doubt she had a clue what I said. And I waited.
And the crying started. She has a cry that can break your heart. Piteous and sweet, as though she has been neglected for all her six months of life. I poured a drink, I nibbled my nails, I tidied up the kitchen.
At three minutes in, I lost it. I went into the bathroom.
She was sat in the sink miaowing for all she was worth. I received a rapturous greeting (she had already forgotten it was me who shut her in there in the first place) with wonderous headbutts and melodious purrs. We sat together for a while - I didn't want her to stop, and we made friends again. She does have a black heart, but it is golden on the inside.
After a while, she hopped off of my lap and scooted out the door. Guess where the little cowbag went? Not hard. Straight back to the scene of the crime.
Literally, because Black Heart flung herself back at the blinds and broke another slat off, and proceeded to work on getting the next one off. I scooped her up, told her off (again) and shut her back in the bathroom. And the crying started. Louder and more insistent the longer I resisted her. I held out. I was furious about the blinds (knowing that the damage was irreparable due to where the snaps were, and knowing exactly how much replacement blinds would cost) and furious with myself for not resisting her charms before.
I left her stewing a whole fifteen minutes. She cried the whole time. In the last minute, her miaow started to sound a little hoarse, so my heart snapped and in I went. I got the same wondrous greeting as last, and thought about shutting her up regularly to get these doses of love.
I carried her out and popped her down away from the blinds. She looked at me, looked at the blinds and looked at me again. And trotted meekly to her bed. She lasted two minutes before jumping up to attack the hapless Frankie, who had wandered in for his food. Frankie cried to go back outside - I think he feels safer out in the big bad world, and Miss Ellie went back to preying on her mice. Poor little buggers are in a bad way, with huge chunks of fur missing.
My blinds are in a similar state, thanks to a small girlcat.
The irony? While writing this, she has been peacefully asleep. I have had to get up no less than nine times to deal with Harvey, who appears to have a devil in his stomach (as the Boy would say). Why? Because he wants to go outside, presumably to escape the evil Ellie (who spent ten minutes chasing his tail earlier).
His crimes?
1. One tipped over food bowl - wet food everywhere.
2. Keys batted under the sofa.
3. Another tipped over food bowl - kibble this time. Treading on that hurts.
4. Using my sofa as a scratching post.
5. One Lion King impression on the balcony.
6. One smashed candle holder.
7. Hiding in my laptop bag and entangling himself in the power cable for extra grip.
8. Dragging a dressing gown downstairs, into the water bowl.
9. Opening the wardrobe door (he has worked that one out) and trying to open a 5kg bag of rice.
All to the accompaniment of Harvey howling. Joyous.
I'd put in my ear plugs, but Frankie ate the last pair. Cats!
posted by DMouse007 @ 2/04/2004 06:39:00 PM
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