ThePoliticalCat: Silly Cat Tail

I know I've promised to tell the stories of all the felines over here at Casa de Los Gatos. Well, the time has come. My injured knee is acting up today, so I have time to blog. And of course, Gojira is being the thorough pest she plays so well. Gojira is about 4 now, a mostly Russian Blue mix of sproing and spite. We adore her. She is utterly wild and unpredictable, though. You never know if she's going to bite or run away, or thoughtfully lick you or step on an injury. Or pee on the bed, though she doesn't do that too often, thank TPTB.

At any rate, Gojira, Dennis, Madu, and two other little gray/black stripers were born to a feral female named GrayGirl, who hung out around Dave and Jo's. Jo asked if I would take one or more of the kittens, who she carefully hand-nurtured to remove the feral mama's influence (mama had access to her children at all times! Jo is a kindly human). I ended up taking Madu and Gojira, and their mama. Mama was way too feral to be happy and comfortable living inside, although I kept her locked in initially. After some 2 months, when I judged that the kittens were old enough to be weaned and comfortable without their mother, I let all of them out to explore. Mama ran off, although I did see her lurking nearby for a while. The kids really loved the new digs, and enjoyed romping outside but also liked the comfort of a warm safe bed at night.

Cut to the present, with Madu The Mighty Hunter who is worth his weight in dead rats, moles, gophers, and mice. Fortunately, he leaves the birds and snakes alone. Gojira, at a mere 6 lb., is too small to hunt effectively. She's deadly on moths, but the rats don't fear her. However, she periodically has insane fits when she pursues moths, running vertically up the wall before gravity overwhelms her and she bounces onto the bed below.

A couple of months ago, she noticed that moths fly around outside the French doors on the porch. Some atavistic memory must have bubbled to the surface of her tiny little brain. She watched them for a day or two displaying worrying signs of fascination. Then, suddenly, in a "shock-and-awe" move, she blitzkrieged - the curtain. It's a good thing she's light and the doors are double-glassed. I'd hate to see her fly through the closed door. In any event, the little idiot hung on to the curtain by her front paws, kicking furiously at the moths. I'm screaming "Get down! Get down, you'll tear my curtains," and the sound must have eventually penetrated that famously nonlistening little brain. She looked at me with enormous round acid-green eyes as her hind paws slowly sank and her little potbelly bulged out. I was laughing so hard! She looked like a little, hairy fruit slowly slipping off the tree. Then - rip, tear! - it dawned on her that her sole support was shredding and she was closer to the floor (and Gustav's sharp teeth) than she wanted to be, so she propelled herself somehow into a sidewise leap onto the bed, jumped three feet in the air, turning round in mid-jump, landed on my injured knee, ricocheted off a wall, and disappeared in a flurry of fine gray fur down the stairs.

What a pest.