Even the least thing these critters do makes me wonder who the " master race" is around here. I mean, we're supposed to able to plan and combine for strength, right?

While ago I was sitting on the couch, reading, Mac was curled up on the other end, snoozing, and the cats were huddled by the front door, plotting. I watched them out of the corner of my eye as they sat there with their heads together.

Sasha turned and looked at Mac and smiled. She turned back around to Willoughby, whereupon he craned his neck and looked at Mac, also. He grinned. Sasha laughed, and I could see the shoulders shake on both cats. Then they both turned and looked at Mac. He looked back at them with concern written all over his face.

Suddenly both cats stood up and started walking towards Mac. He didn't even wait to see what was going on, he just turned and ran into the bedroom with the cats in hot pursuit.

A moment later I heard Mac growling, deep and menacing, so of course, I had to get up and go see.

He had backed into the corner under the bed and was threatening the cats with mayhem if they approached him. They spread out and Willoughby tried to get behind him, but there was no way. Mac was ready.

The cats looked at each other and trotted back into the living room, but Mac, he laid low for a while.

Wonder what that was all about?

Copyright © David Yehudah
January 6, 2000