Background: I got 2 cats. Ones a big, fixed (it made funny noises till the vet 'fixed' it), and as enteraining as mud. The other ones a young rambunctious loud and goofy lookin critter that has an opinion about everything. (no, my cats not animal... I mean it IS an animal... but it's not OUR animal)
Ok.. I was flyin a couple of hours ago, and of course, the goof decides to mosey on over and offer an opinion on the rudder pedals.. just as i'm tryin to line up a shot. "Meow". (*kick*) 'Beat it, goofball'. Cat dashes off.. returns a few minutes later, this time; walking across the keyboard. Flaps, gear, engine, this plane does not have a gunner. "dammit, goofball..' "Meow".
Goofball gets a flying lesson. While deploying her stabilization and short field arrest gear, a beer goes over. Not a crisis.. I was meaning to get a wet rag and clean the goo off that table anyway; but just now, there's some guy B&Z'ing my bellybutton so I get distracted...
10 min later, the goofs back. I know it's the goof, because the goof is hammering little pitons into my leg as she drives toward the summit. If it was the big Fuzz, the chair would flip over and the local college seismograh would be alerting the media. I tear my eyes away from the screen and fix her with my baleful eye.. she stops; eyeballs me back while hanging from one fistfull of leg.. *MEOW*
Cat get second flying lesson, high parabolic; short rollout at coffee table destination. A few more empties go over... "gotta stay outta the trees, dummy" I mumble.. and go back to flying. But not before it registers on some lower level that this pattern of flying simulation followed shortly by flying cat is getting pretty gawdamned consistent.
Not long after (subjective time.. @ an hour) it gets dark in the arena and I log. I look around.. the big Fuzz is dozing in the recliner (used to be MY recliner.. now it's got 2 inches of cat fur imbedded in the original velour.. would that now be cat-velour??), but the Goofball is MIA.
I go get the roll of paper towels and the kitchen garbage can and start pickin up empties and dumping ashtrays. "odd..." I think.. "i coulda swore that wuz a full beer..." tables dry, hardwood floor is dry. "did it leak tru the floor...??" I continue on with my KP detail.. out from behind the TV bolts the Goof, she does the usual direction change rebound off my leg at full tilt, lands on the Fuzz's sleeping body, springs over the back of the recliner and dissapears in an orange/white/black blur down the hallway all whilst uttering the most mournful "yarrrooowwwwllllllll" I ever heard a cat make. If you saw it yourself, you'da come to the conclusion the damn thing was on fire.
Fuzz gives me a dirty look, and slinks on down the hall after the Goof. I return to the task at hand, and a couple of garbage bags later I'm done pickin up the empties, butts, balsa chunks, cat toys, taco bell wrappers, dental floss and other deruitus of divorced bliss.
During the sweeping part, it should be noted that the Goof and the Fuzz and the broom engaged in a rather rambunctious 3 way game of 'tag; yer IT!' Now, this can be entertaining, so I go get a fresh brewski and return to the living room, sit the beer down on the coffee table and pick up the broom again.
Does the Goof attack the broom? No. The Fuzz? Nope. My leg?? Nah. Get this.. the Goof.. who watched my round trip to the fridge and back with utmost attention, hops up on the coffee table and neat as a brain surgeon, taps the beer over. And starts lapping it up. Fuzz strolls on over and starts in on the overflow as it hits the floor.
Dumbfounded, I watch as these two theives sop up a two-thirds full tall neck Bud., lick each others chops, crotches, and via remarkable contortions, parts I can't identify safely. (are all cats linda blairs understudys??)
They're sitting together now.. all slit eyed and contented while I type this... with my beer balanced between my legs. Now I'm not really paranoid.. hell; I'm sure I can drink 'em, both under the table..
..it's just this is my last beer.
