Fuzzy socks…

There has been a curious re-distribution of articles around the house since Pudgy arrived. I’m still missing a red-lacy garment but haven’t ruled my husband out on that one. Watching Pudgy’s curiosity overcome her better judgment is both amusing and terrifying. One day she was doing somersaults between the spindles on the stairway. “You’re going to fall if you keep doing that,” I said to a kitten that ignored me. A few moments later she landed hard on the floor below. I ran over to see if she was okay. To my relief she seemed more surprised than anything. “See?” I said. She strutted off in a huffy way, tail twitching. My son said, “She’s responding to her inner-mountain lion.” I grimaced and said, “Mountain lion works. Eagle does not.”

I’ve observed Pudgy knocking items off the tops of dressers and desks like a hockey player practices putting pucks in the net. Pow, pow, pow. She carries stuffed toys nearly twice her size from room to room in her mouth. And don’t even get me started about what she’s been doing to my poor Christmas cactus. Anyway, this morning I noticed one of my husband’s socks lying outside the laundry basket. He’s not always good about getting his dirty clothes entirely inside, so I picked it up and tossed it into the basket. A few moments later I found it lying on the floor again. I repeated my action, but this time watched from around the corner. Pudgy jumped into the basket, grabbed the sock with her mouth, and then rolled around on the floor with it. She bit, clawed, and kicked it. When it no longer “fought back,” she left. I put the offending, but now slightly damp and limp, sock into the laundry basket. Pudgy returned and killed it once again.

Sigh. I’m thinking I just need to get used to Pudgy’s help around the house. From trimming my cactus to killing the laundry before washing, she is one busy girl. Her antics were the best part of my day.