As I sit here the night before my wife, the Blonde Italian, returns from traveling over seas, I cannot help but wonder about how both of her cats will welcome her home. And will they. After all, they are cats. This means they’re complicated creatures who, once their mama walks through the door, will become simultaneously overjoyed, sad, angry, and mischievous, all at the same time. Where both cats differ is in how they passionately express their maliciously wrathful warjoy.
I was supernaturally gifted with a wife who is both blonde, italian, and a cat lover. Atheists have a hard time convincing me the Almighty does not exist. Why? How can there not be a diety when He blessed me with a beautiful blonde who also happens to be from the old country, and all the perks thereof. And I’m not even Catholic. Yes, she can cook. Yes, she’s hot. Yes, she’s blonde. Not necessarily in that order. At any rate, the Divine Blessing also came with the bonus gift of two cats. At this point, said atheists may now point out that if there is a God, he is definitely a she, because only a female would bestow not one, but two extra ragamuffins on one man. This also doesn’t take into account the 5 1/2 pound female feline terror I brought into this. Oh, she is to laugh.
To give you an idea how this will go, imagine a vanilla creme short hair with a penchant for drooling when he sleeps, locking himself in the bathroom, meowling randomly for the unseen female feline locked in the pocket parallel universe called the master bedroom, and knocking his fellow compadre senseless, just because. Oliver, or Ollie as he is colloquially known in these parts of Texas, is the extrovert. Contrast Sir Oliver with his counterpoint, a black, bat-toothed, gentle giant of a rag doll who jumps on the dining room table during dinner, eats anything like a billy goat, and thinks the water bottle (our Cat Disciplinary Device) is his own personal shower. The appropriately named Boo Radley, or “BooRad”, his code name among the super secret feline armed forces, is the younger, scrappier introvert.
Both felines are possessive over their property, as they usually are, but especially when it comes to shared property. Make no mistake, they share their mama. Actually, it is more of a temporary truce than sharing (and I highly doubt there will ever be an armistice). So when Mama Mia goes on a trip, they express their love and devotion. If you call grabbing and biting their favorite cat servant love.
Tonight, Radley thinks he owns the entire living space. Mama has left, and therefore nothing now stands in the way of complete and total global domination. Ollie is ‘sleeping’ quietly on the couch, with one eye half open. Before long, one will pounce the other and it. Will. Be. On. Forget World War Z, I have to deal with these two knocking each other all over the apartment. While watching World War Z. Netflix is awesome.
Oh, I know, I know, it probably won’t be that bad. It’s only been 2 days since Ollie locked himself in the bathroom. And Radley last ate one of his cat toys and threw it up 3 days before that. But when you least suspect it, after the Blonde Italian walks through that door, there they’ll be, biting my foot for daring to let her go on a trip. Or knocking something off a table, or chewing on some random piece of plastic that wasn’t tied down. Or meowing for the female in the Master Bedroom parallel universe.
Don’t misunderstand, I cannot wait for my wife to return forthwith and henceforth. I just hope the twin terrors decide to go easy on us poor cat servants. Oh right. Cats have no mercy, silly me.