Most of my friends have cats who hide the minute someone walks through the front door. Now, I know that’s not the case for many of your cats, but it has been my experience that cats, in general, don’t particularly enjoy the company of strangers (aka people who are not members of the immediate household). My cats are pretty much the opposite.
Mitchell, the original MeowSpace® user, sees all, hears all, knows all. If there’s a guest in our home, he’s either sitting on their lap or trying in some way to get our attention.
Flopsie, our formerly fat cat, prefers to spend her day on our king-sized bed, but if a guest manages to awaken her beauty sleep (which isn’t easy to do), she’ll find her way downstairs and hang around so she doesn’t miss the action.
Our cats are not afraid of much. But they sure know how to scare the hell out of me. Case in point: It’s late at night, and I happen to be home alone, in the shower. Suddenly the glass doors begin shaking and pounding. Visions of Hitchcock’s “Psycho” appear in my terrified brain. My horrified eyes shift to the source of the sound, and I see little black and white paws clawing from the outside of the door.
“Stop that, Flopsie!” I yell in my most authoritative shaky voice, to no avail. I slide open the door to allow water to spray down on her. She stops, but stands her ground and gives me that look of, “I want something from you, mommy, and you should already know what it is!” I slide the door closed and resume my shower. Boom boom boom boom pound pound pound pound pound! No, she’s not clawing the door anymore. She’s running up and down the stairs as noisily as she can. It sounds like the home intruder my imagination conjures up. Not quite finished with my shower, I decide to get out, my still soapy hair dripping all over my sopping wet robe. My towel is being used to deter the running, which has stopped automatically because I got out of the shower.
By this time my heart is pounding and I’m a nervous wreck. I stagger to my bedroom to redeem some semblance of sanity before getting into bed for the night. I notice that my dresser drawer is still open from the morning, so I reach in to grab my pajamas. I pull out a screaming blob of long red hair and begin screaming myself. The red-haired banshee flies away from me and hides under a chair, staring at me with terrified eyes. In the span of 2 seconds, I’ve gone from sheer terror to unbearable guilt.
I should really try to cash in on the horror movie craze.
