The Fluffy Tail

There once lived a particular feline with a rash wit, with an iconic bushy tail often mistaken for that of a squirrel. But she didn't care she was different, nose high in the air, walking with a graceful swing. What she cared about was more important than her appearance.

The rushing sound of the shower water turning on got Rascal's attention. Her ears perked up and her eyes widened and off she went, scampering into the bathroom, leaping onto the back of the toilet next to the bathtub. For she knew that a most worthy adversary lie beyond the the great curtain.

She could see the shadowed figure helplessly looking for an escape behind the veiled bathtub. The time to strike was near. There it was -- the small little bugger's shadow touching the great wall. Little did it know that Rascal's claws were much too sharp for the wall to protect it. As a matter of fact, she had been sharpening them all morning, preparing for the attack. Rascal took a menacing strike around the edge of the curtain at the tiny object, claws extended, and fur standing on end. WHAPPP!!

AAAH!

She got it! The mangy little intruder too afraid to show itself for fear of the sight of the mighty feline retreated. Rascal was sure to win this time.

But the speedy fiend never showed himself again -- probably stunned from her killer blow -- the coward. She couldn't wait any longer for him to make his move and peered around the corner of the wall. He was gone! The only thing on the other side of the wall was that rather chubby, pale-skinned human who most irrated Rascal.

Against her will, this Tim, as he was called, picked her high up off the floor, shook her, rubbed her, held her upsidedown. What about feline rights, feline autonomy? Perhaps it was too much for this Tim's brain to handle. No shock. He did sit in front of a box most days looking at an array of various flashing lights. But Rascal did not fall for this kind of brain-washing and kept her thoughts by remaining sober and clear-headed.

Tim did have his uses. He provided food in the morning, though not up to Rascal's standards. But in the afternoon, after some slick goading on Rascal's part, Tim was buttered up enough to give the good food from the cold safe too heavy for Rascal to open herself. All it took was her meow, the wagging tail and opening her eyes as far as she could to manipulate the stupid oaf.

How did Tim let the thing escape? It must have been right in front of his eyes. It was not surprising. He was not the most competent human always getting yelled at by the other human, Amy, as she is called. Amy is more gentle and soothing, much smarter than Tim. She gives great food and gives Rascal attention when she asks. Surely Tim should have learned from her by now from Rascal's reactions to his shinanigans. Maybe he is beyond conditioning, she thought?

After suffering such a disappointment as this, Rascal was famished. She jumped from the toilet to the floor and pawed at the wall. Tim peered his head around to find Rascal wagging her tail, meowing, and looking up at him with sad, green eyes.

AWWWW...

The reaction was automatic. Rascal victoriously bathed herself.

The water ceased, Tim walked out from behind the wall and stopped to grab something to rub on his body. Typical. He was always thinking of himself before others. Rascal sounded even louder, and even turned her head and walked the way she wanted him to go. She looked back and meowed again. Boy was he slow!

Finally, he followed Rascal to the kitchen trying to stop along the way, but Rascal was too persuasive for the likes of him. She hadn't quite figured out how to persuade him to give certain kinds of food, but she was determined to work on him a bit. Clearly, it would be a long effort. He still hadn't figured out why she peed on the floor so often. If only he knew it was just to annoy him.