Appearances Can Be Deceiving

Darling aren't they?

When you arrive home they are immediately at the door to greet you, nuzzling your legs, crawling into your lap, and purring up a storm. How could you resist stroking their soft, silky fur or scratching behind their ears? They knead softly on your lap while looking at you with their sizzling sly eyes. All of a sudden the hair on your neck stands up and you get a cold chill down your spine. For a fleeting moment you wonder if they might be plotting something against you. But then the kitties relax and resume their purring. They snuggle closer to you and curl up oh-so-sweetly on your lap, warming you and taking that chill right away. You shrug off that feeling of doom and slip into a false sense of relief and contentment.

Welcome to my life. I love my boys to death. But they don't always return the favor. At least not once they have received the attention they've been craving. Sure, they greet me at the door and cuddle with me on the couch when watching Lost or October Road. However, as nice as that may sound they have a devious side to them. And it never benefits me.

Their meow can compete with the sound of nails on a chalkboard. Just as nails slowly screech across a blackboard, so do their meows squeak out in the most grating and loud death howl you can imagine. And it doesn't happen just once. Or even twice. No, they can cry for an hour straight if they so choose. It really depends on how angry they are with me. Did I mention this typically happens at 4am? Yeah, exactly. They don't do it when I'm awake. They wait until I'm deep in my REM sleep before belting out their shrieking tune. Are they crying for any apparent reason? No. Their food bowl is overflowing, the water in their dish straight from the tap. So what is the reason behind their cry? My only answer is to test my patience as much as possible. And cause more stress lines around my eyes.

We have a plant. In our house. It is large and green and receives water whenever I remember. The boys are intrigued by this plant. A little too much. I should have known from the beginning that the plant in the house spelled trouble. But I trusted them and granted them access to the plant. Only to come home to find this: The boys had dug around the base of the plant, chewed the lower leaves, trotted around the house with dirt all over their paws leaving a nice brown trail in their wake, and rolled in the dirt, covering their entire bodies with grainy crumbs of soil. The look on their tiny faces when I discovered their dirty deed? One of pure joy mixed with contempt and a side of smug.

Fact: Cats have claws.
Discovered: Cats like to sharpen their claws.
Result: Cats sharpen claws on whatever they can find. Wicker furniture, bed spreads, couch, carpet, foam that the water heater rests on. Pretty much anything they can find, they will use. Destructive little beings. And they relish the fact. They will purposely sharpen their claws on my chair right in front of me, looking at me with an evil grin as they slowly lift one paw into the air, place it softly on the arm of the chair, extend their claws, and then pierce. So triumphant they are. And they know that even if I shoo them away they can simply come back when I'm asleep or away. My house is really under their control.

Moral of the story: Don't judge a cat by it's purr.