I've seen these cats do about everything imaginable, but they've always been pretty straightforward. I didn't know until tonight they could be devious.

Maccabee, the miniature dachshund and usual butt of the cat's mischief, was lying sprawled out in all his glory next to the couch where I lay reading. He'd had a rough day chasing cats and was taking a well-earned nap. Willoughby, the silver tabby, was asleep in the open window, and Sasha, the seal point, was asleep in my computer chair.

Traveller, the DSH tuxedo, appeared in the little doorway over the bookshelves and just stood there watching. He hunkered down and stalked Mac, never taking his eyes off the unsuspecting mutt. Down the little stairway from the catwalk he crept, stealthy as a. . .well, you know. Softly he stepped onto my couch, walked over my legs, and just stood there admiring his prey for a full minute. Mac never moved.

Suddenly Traveller reached down with one paw and slapped Mac, hard, right on top of his little pointy nose, then ducked down between my legs out of Mac's sight.

Mac leaped to his feet snarling and snapping, whipping his head from side to side, eyes wide open and totally alert.

Traveller started purring.

All Mac could see was Willoughby, about ten feet away, sound asleep. The cat looked up sleepily at the commotion, then lay back down and picked up his dreams where he'd left off.

Mac snorted and glared at all and sundry, then lay grumpily back down.

Traveller purred louder, eyes closed, just the tip of his little pink tongue sticking out.

Mac grumbled and groaned, then closed his eyes and lay still.

Traveller waited a few moments, then slowly got up and s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d all over, then leaned over the side and slapped Mac again, hard, then crouched back down between my legs. He was still purring.

Outraged, Mac leaped to his feet and attacked Willoughby. The fight was on. Neither Mac nor Willoughby would give up. All Willoughby knew was that he was being attacked unjustly. Mac was (excuse my French) royally pissed and not about to let any old cat get away with such shenanigans. Like the two cats from Killkenny, "They fought and they fit and they scratched and they bit. . ."

Traveller lay low and purred louder.

Willoughby gave it up. He didn't even suspect there was a reason for the fight. He just scurried up the staircase out of the dog's reach and stretched out to finish his nap.

Mac snorted and lay back down. He'd close his eyes, then suddenly sit up and look around. He did that a lot. Anytime he closed his eyes he imagined something was sneaking up on him.

Traveller purred.

After a moment or so he slithered over to the side of the couch and looked down, waiting for another chance. Meanwhile, back in the jungle, Sasha had been awakened by all the ruckus and decided she wanted my lap. As I have mentioned before Sasha is all business and not very understanding.

Just as she got to my lap, Traveller swatted Mac again, but this time when he jumped back, he landed on Sasha. She let out a shriek which scared poor Traveller out of three of his nine lives and slashed him across the butt with claws extended. Traveller has always been terrified of Sasha. He leaped forward right into Mac's jaws, and the fight was on. Traveller, who would rather fight a dozen dogs than take on Sasha, barely escaped up the stairs with his hide intact, getting mixed up with and trampling Willoughby, who took a couple of chaws out of him on the way by, in the process.

Sasha just lay there and purred.

Copyright © David Yehudah
April 29, 1999