Sweet Baby Jesus, it’s been COLD! Of course, this is Alberta so it’s only to be expected but I don’t have to like it. And as miserable as it is for The Viking and me to go about our daily business when it’s -30°C, it’s even worse for the cats.
On the first very cold day, both cats moped around the house, complaining and whining – Izzie at the top of her lungs.
On the second very cold day, Izzie ripped apart a loaf of bread on the counter when I shivered my way to the grocery store and Teddy destroyed a roll of toilet paper.
“IZZIE!! You dirty cat!!”
A destroyed loaf of bread paled in comparison to wiping my Lady Parts with shredded toilet paper though.
“TEDDY!! What the fuck?!”
On the third very cold day, a Cold War began. Izzie would sit in front of the Cat Door so Teddy couldn’t get back in after he ran out for his pee/poo. And then Teddy would sit in front of the Cat Door so Izzie couldn’t get back in after she ran out for her pee/poo.
“IZZIE!! You long streak of misery! Get away from that Cat Door!”
“TEDDY!! Get away from that…….oh, never mind. She has it coming. Just don’t keep her out for long or she’ll get frostbite.”
They both took turns sitting beside me on my desk, staring at my left ear without blinking until I started getting a bit freaked out – usually 15 to 20 minutes. It worked better on The Viking than it did on me because I’ve had children and have extensive experience at Ignoring.
On the fourth very cold day, a Peace Treaty was negotiated, and Play Etiquette was established. Very loudly. With lots and lots of cursing and name-calling. They also took turns trying to convince The Viking and me that it was Dinner Time despite the fact that it clearly wasn’t Dinner Time. And then The Viking made the mistake of telling Izzie that she was getting fat. The cursing was very lengthy and very creative, and he won’t make that mistake again any time soon.
On the fifth very cold day, a racecourse was agreed upon, including a chicane* behind the sofa, and a climb over the top of the Cat Tree. We may need to bolt it to the floor.
There are now Thundering Chases through the house at regular intervals, 24 hours a day. I bought a set of ‘Ruggies’ – sticky triangles you put under the corners of an area rug to keep it in place – but the rigors of Formula 1: Cat Edition are more than the ‘Ruggies’ can handle. I reposition the rug several times a day. The wind gusts generated by two cats hurtling around the chicane have kicked up some impressive Dust Bunnies – I won’t have to move the furniture for cleaning until Spring, at the earliest. Every time I go into our bedroom, I have to push a storage bin back under the bed. The kitchen chairs are rattled violently and occasionally knocked over in their enthusiasm, as are the office chairs when high-velocity furry rockets storm my workstation. Invoices and statements explode like a blizzard in their wake because Holy Crap they are fast!! One minute I’m making an invoice and in the blink of an eye, I’m surrounded by fluttering paper. I never actually see them – it’s only a fuzzy blur.
The Viking and I aren’t complaining, though. Our Babies are playing! Peacefully! It’s so sweet! We had almost given up hope they would learn to play.
The weather started getting nice again yesterday so we’re expecting fewer race heats. And let’s hope they remember how to play for the next cold snap.
* A Chicane is a serpentine curve in a road, added by design rather than dictated by geography. Chicanes add extra turns and are used both in motor racing and on roads and streets to slow traffic for safety.
