My cats generally seem to know, on some level, that they are housecats. They sleep under the covers and seem genuinely offended when I don't give them a plate of the same dinner I have cooked for Ed and I -- Lydia has even, on rare occaision, tried to bat food OUT OF MY HANDS to demonstrate her annoyance. They hate snow, and will make little barking sounds at birds, but are generally content to chanse nothing more actually alive than a stuffed mousie or the occaisional and very unlucky moth.

Every now and again, though, they truly believe they are FIERCE PREDATORS. This happens to George fairly rarely -- he's decidedly an indoor kind of boy, and is just so happy to have food and warm things an no one kicking him, he barely even thinks about his ancient past as a fearsome carnivore. Lydia, however, between bouts of being a complete princess, sitting daintily on her kitty house or burrowing under your sweater to share body heat, regularly decides that she is not a humble housecate, but rather...JUNGLE CAT, MAGNUM P.I.

For example, we keep our spare toilet paper locked away in the office closet, lest it be eviscerated and turned into confetti by some MYSTERIOUS FORCE. Today, I left the closet open a crack after hanging up one of Ed's shirts. Realizing this, and seeing some suspiciously dilated pupils, I sat back to watch.

Lydia appeared to hear the theme song from Mission Impossible. As stealthily as possible for a black ball of fluff, she snuck in (via the desk, bookshelf, doorframe, other bookshelf, chain, and in, making it as hard for herslef as possible). Moments later, she emerged, roll of t.p. clamped in her jaws. The roll had clearly put up quite a fight, as she bore the marks of some white fluff, but she had finally subdued the beast. Then, climbing up to the top of the highest bookshelf, like a cheetah retreats into a tree with a fallen gazelle, she stood atop her fallen quarry and started to rip it apart with tooth and nail.

Of course, as soon as I got the tiny handvac out to clean up the confetti, she fled. It's...kind of loud, you know. Those vacuum cleaners. Scary.

I think I need to get out a little more.