Our homestead has been home to quite a few cats over the years. All of them have been unique and wonderful creatures, more than a few of them have been extra special, and one of them I'm pretty sure was my familiar. But that's a post for another day.
Meatball though, he's in a class of his own.
Never did I have an inkling as I picked him out of the litter at my mom's last summer that he would be the epitome of FAFO.
To start with, I know that most cats live in their own realm according to their own rules, the chaotic neutral of alignments. Cats care not about what humans think.
That said, Meatball takes this cat alignment thing to another level. He seems to be the maximum combination of bon vivant and outright mischief.
All in this sort of slow motion timeline of existence.
Like this morning for instance. My corgi was just minding her own business and sitting by the woodstove. The hubs, various members of the cat clan, and our two doggos were enjoying our morning coffee time when Meatball got up from lounging on the back of the couch, hopped down, strolled over towards Cora like a Regency rake promenading with the ton and then he just jumped onto her back. Just because.
Last night was another instance, I keep my used coffee grounds in a little bowl next to the coffee pot. When the bowl is full, I go dump the grounds on my flower beds. Well, I was standing there washing a few dishes when I heard a meow behind me. Meatball was just sitting there on his haunches staring into my soul. I've been stared at by lots of creatures, but there is just something unnerving about the way this cat looks at you, almost like he can see my source code and wants to bat it or something.
Anyway, I politely told him there was no tuna juice or treats for one of his kind at the moment, to which he replied in a most whatever meow tone. I turned away from his leering and went back to rinsing some of the three hundred coffee cups the bruhs had used after one of their ice bath sessions. Suddenly, something smacked to the floor on my left and I felt granules of stuff pepper my slippers.
Meatball had walked up to the counter, jumped up just enough to hook the bowl with his paw, and spilled it onto the floor.
Me, I am not a big fan of injustice, and I think that cleaning up something's mess when I am right in the middle of cleaning up something else's mess, both messes of which I had nothing to do with making, is the height of injustice.
So I took the only natural and right course, one of righteous retribution, I sprayed the evil behaving entity with holy, er, I mean lavender hydrosol water.
(The bruhs were beyond forgiven for their excess Kat chore slight because they ran all my garbage to the dump, bless them).
Meatball, he reacts like all creatures of the chaos do when hit with the sweet, cleansing jet of lavender hydrosol water, and bolted like a cartoon character.
His antics as of late, really as of since I have became his keeper, have been very thought-provoking though. His great grandmother is the cat that I'm pretty sure has been trying to kill me for years via body placement at the most opportune moment. Perhaps this cat, from her genetic line, is upping the ante by being more open about it.
He's such a good snuggler though...
And as most of the time, all of the images in this post were taken on the author's has a suspicion that the cat might not be an actual cat iPhone.
