So my 17 month old daughter has a cultivated a hobby, cat stalking. I blame myself. If you were to look in my shed there is an impressive collection of fly fishing gear, so I’m pretty sure it’s genetic. I stalk trout, she stalks cats.
The two cats in our house are not particularly fond of her new found enthusiasm for lets just say Lennie Small rabbit attention. (For you kids born after print died Google “Of Mice and Men” maybe even read it.) The cats handle things differently, the orange fat one just runs away and then hides on the top bunk in our boys room where she can’t reach her.
The little black one however is diabolical. She knows that the kid will follow her anywhere and uses this for her own personal sick cat amusement. There is also a level of payback because more than once our little darling has grabbed her by the tail and tried to start her like a lawnmower. I keep telling her “the cat is flooded give it a minute”.
Here is how the whole thing plays out daily. The cat walks by in that kind of walk that only cats and burlesque dancers can do well. Sophie cannot resist a good cat hunt. Thus begins the game.
The cat takes my daughter through an obstacle course designed for maximum cat amusement. Sophie dutifully follows with zeal and very little awareness of things over her head, gravity, etc. The dinner table/chair combo is the cat’s personal favorite. (See above.)
You would think our kid whom we like to believe is intelligent would figure out this ploy and simply employ a classic flanking maneuver and outwit an animal that once almost died from eating string. She has not read Field Marshall Erwin Rommel’s book apparently.
So everyday it’s the same. Meow, Bonk, Waaaaaaaa, Meow, Bonk, Waaaaaaaaa…etc etc.