I was woken by the wailing of the cat fight at the end of the universe. From the volume and extra-added screaming, I assumed that Thug (aka The Purring Death) had Piper cornered somewhere, so I went to help. The further through the house I went, the louder it got. Not so much cat fight at the end of the universe, but the cat fight that ends the universe. Ginge had risen from her (well, Oatmeal’s) cushion in front of the washing machine and was dancing around, expressing her concern – make it stop, I want to go back to sleep.
I carried on to the lounge – it wasn’t Piper, but Squeak. I assumed Thug was on the other side, but I couldn’t see, couldn’t get the right angle at the window. (Note to self – on getting out of bed to investigate cat-fight, dress first.)
So there you have it, seven-thirty in the morning, end of the universe and I haven’t had breakfast yet, or got my underwear on. Ginge was right to be concerned. For some reason, Squeak really loathes ginger cats, and like Piper, she can spot a ginger cat by colour and doesn’t differentiate between Ginge and Thug. Whichever one she is putting in their place, the screaming and fury will just go on for ever. Or until the universe finally gives up and ends.
Squeak is utterly unrelenting. When she has a go at Ginge, it’s a relatively even match and Ginge resolves it by running away. In fact, these days, Ginge won’t even come in to the lounge. But Thug... that is a grudge match and a half. Squeak pitches her two-thousand eight-hundred grams of raw whining against his meagre seven kilos of lean mean violence machine. She howls and wails, lunging without a care for her personal safety and absolutely refuses to back down until he turns and runs. Or at least saunters away. Whatever the mode of locomotion, Squeak stays at it until he is absolutely out of sight. This is her window sill, and no damned ginger cat is getting it.
That is the cat fight at the end of the universe. OK, not quite the end. Just close enough to give a flavour. The true end of the universe would be if they were both the same side of the glass.
|Thug, relaxing later on the new, luxury, body-hugging lap|