Life with cats

Last week wasn’t a good one for writing.  It wasn’t a good one for much, honestly.

I was hoping for better this morning, and did better (finished a chapter).  And then.

Then.

So, as background, I have two cats.  They share two cat brains between them, but nowhere near equally.  Cricket, my black and white kitty, is so very, very sweet, and dumb as a box of rocks.  She seriously reminds me of the rooster on Moana, where brainpower is concerned.

Shadow, on the other hand…Shadow has  all of her smarts, plus 2/3 of Cricket’s.  And last week, she discovered she likes butter.  I’d needed to wash my butter keeper, so I set half a stick out for use on a small plate while it was in the dishwasher.  And I forgot to put it in the fridge overnight.  I found lick marks in the exposed end and side in the morning, and sort of watched it.  I finally caught the kitty in it just after I got the kids home (she waited ’til I went to go get them before she got on the table).

Yes, I threw it away.  I just wanted to figure out which kitty was after it, so that I’d know how much trouble I’d have trying to keep them out of the butter in the future.  Unfortunately, that answer is “the smart one, so lots.”

Anyway, back to today.  I was writing, finishing up a chapter, just about to start the next one…then…

There was a suspicious noise in the kitchen.

I went to investigate, and caught Shadow jumping down off the counter…where my heavy, glass butter keeper resides.

Yes, it still survives.  It survived a kitty “fuck that thing” attack, because there were too many other things between it and the edge of the counter.  Like a cherry delight that I made last night in lieu of a birthday cake for myself, and which I’d be really unhappy to be cleaning off the floor.

The butter keeper is no longer on the counter; instead, it’s on a silicon baking mat thing I use as a large trivet on the middle of my husband’s grandmother’s dining table.  I think I need to look for a Tupperware butter keeper, that will neither break nor pop open when the kitty decides to play “fuck that thing” to try to get at the butter.

And I am going to have to go curl up with a pen and notebook to try to get back into the story, because that little interruption?  Knocked it right out of me.