Cat and Mouse

FRISKitty is, as her blogname implies, more of a playful feline than a snuggly one. She frolics at whim and runs at whimsy, sometimes pausing in her pursuit of—or by—nothing whatsoever to sit momentarily, tense and wary, her ears flattened against the back of her head and then turning this way and that, to see if she can hear the quiet padding of invisible feet. And then, with a Mrrrt! instead of a "Beep-beep-zip-BANG!" she is off again, traveling at the cat equivalent of warp speed.

As a stray, homeless and Kate-Moss-skinny, she learned to hunt, and learned it well. In the few days after she found us when we had not yet brought her in, I saw her dispatch a mouse on the lawn, and trot by with a garter snake from I wasn't quite sure where. She ate asparagus out of the garden—a trick she has not cared to repeat since arriving in of doors, where a bowl of crunchy, easy-to-pounce-upon crumpets awaits her always. But she has dispatched a disturbing number of mice here, too, only doing so more with an attitude of intensely-engaged play than for survival.

FRISKitty can be quite tolerant, and was so of Little Girl from the very beginning. She would permit Little Girl to carry here hither and yon outside, and inside, she continues to do so ... to this very day, although she will now, on occasion, protest such treatment with loud, warning MROWWWWLLing, and is sometimes driven to run and hide. She is also very good at hiding, although Little Girl caught on to the tunnel-space behind the couch fairly quickly.

In her rare moments of lap-kitty-dom, FRISKitty is no less charming than in her high-speed rocket-cat states. Perhaps because these times are so very much not the norm, I am more than willing to put off other tasks to have my currently-too-ample belly roughly massaged by kneading cat feet. The rough, grumbling purr that accompanies such tummy-rearranging is not so much soothing, but it is extremely charming, accompanied by the sight of FRISKitty's typically wide eyes narrowed into half-sleeping bliss, and the occasional butting of her furry head against my chin as if to say, "Oh yeah. It doesn't get any better than this! And you know it."

Recently, FRISKitty has noted that she has more chances to assault my lap when I am reading blogs than in my more unusual moments of television-watching. Having her pop up into my lap at such times is bittersweet, because Old Lady Cat—who is still moving along, albeit stiffly and in the confines of the bedroom, with occasional bathtub privileges—was the one who previously took advantage of those times. But FRISKitty has never been one to be anyone other than herself, and so she does not often descend up into my lap at such times, which makes it alright with me. Though I am glad Old Lady Cat can't see it, as she would most haughtily not approve of even the most casual usurping of my lap.

Anyway, not long after the unfortunate demise of my $2.50 laser pointer/pet entertainment device, FRISKitty leapt up into my lap as I read the latest writings of my favorite bloggers. She kneaded enthusiastically, she gazed into my face with her typically unguarded uninhibitedness, and she eventually settled into a half-nested position, facing the same direction that I was. And as she sat there, relaxed, and I read there, absorbed, something strange happened.

I didn't notice it at first, so subtle was the catching of mellow FRISKitty's attention, but soon her posture unfolded to full alertness again, her eyes locked with the mouse. Blissfully unaware, I read on, flipping from one subscription to another with practiced ease that didn't feel very quick, but must have been. For after a moment, FRISKitty leaned forward, and now my attention was engaged.

"What are you doing, silly?"

FRISKitty did not answer, of course, but her scholarly posture of alert awareness said it all. She was watching something, and she was watching it carefully. Because I didn't see what that something was, I went back to my reading, although it was moderately subdued by the knowledge that there might be something small, gray, and furry out there, nearby.

And then, it happened: the cord got stuck. I pulled it briskly, which is usually enough to dislodge it, and FRISKitty could not contain herself any longer. She lunged across the keyboard and lifted one paw, and as she batted, curious, at the strange little arrow that zipped this way and that across the monitor, I finally understood that she'd been absorbed by my mouse pointer, there on the screen.

Yes, where a cheap laser pointer had failed, regular mousing motions had succeeded, and FRISKitty stayed there for some time, moving her head this way and that, tracking the rapid path of her virtual prey with more curiosity than determination. And she put one paw up lightly to try to stop the thing, until I realized that, should she decide to engage another paw, the monitor would be in more than a little danger.

I sure hope this story doesn't end the way Harriet's did.