The Cat Maffia

I am thinking that the Don of the cat mafia is living in my house, with his brother the hit man. I have two cats that, well, are not subtle...in anyway. First of all they are man sized cats. These brothers each weighing in at close to 20 pounds, even scare the 60 pound boxer across the street. Because of this, you can imagine, they really like meal time…and I mean REALLY LIKE MEAL TIME.

In my recent life of 3 jobs, 3 kids, a grandmother and school board, I have gotten…er…a little behind. For the most part everyone in the family has been pretty understanding that sometimes you feel that you could make a meal off the kitchen floor, or that dinner may not get on the table until 7:30 because I am still thawing the chicken that I forgot to take out of the fridge, and even my children are understanding of having to go on safari through my jungle bedroom of laundry in search of clean underwear from the mountains of “to be folded” along the walls. They are great…the cats however? Not so much.

I forgot to buy cat food, now, this is not to say that I was starving them, I am fairly sure that they could sustain life off their bellies for 2 years if need be. But they had gone oh, maybe 12 hours over night without food, and frankly, they are less than forgiving about that sort of thing. I woke up to one of them staring me down in bed…you know that type of thing where you wake up in fear because you know you are being stared at? I went down to feed them, but we were out of food…I figured they could wait until I went to the store, so I went about my daily business.

At this point, I think they sensed that I was not going to be meeting their needs at that exact moment…so they proceeded to stalk me through the house. They followed me around taking turns tripping me until I fell on my face in the living room in my attempt to not step on the two slithering animals.
If I would stop and look at them, they would quickly adjust to their “I am pitiful and you are starving me” look.

There really wasn’t much I was going to do at that moment so I continued on my day. I went down to run on the treadmill that morning…Sugar Ray…otherwise known as “Fatty” sat at the table in front of the tread mill and proceeded to stare me down…and I don’t mean just a little while…that darn cat didn’t break eye contact for nearly 30 minutes and the whole time I was running right toward him…I actually laughed at one point because it was getting so awkward…still no break in the stare.

After about 35 minutes of running I was so unnerved that my husband was going to come down to find me laid out on the floor and fatty licking his paws after having eaten my face or something that I ended my run early.

I did finally get the food and I am pretty sure that they called off the hit cats that they had hired…but seriously…these felines are severe about their kitty chow. I will not forget again, because I am fairly sure I will find a fish in my bed as a warning…