She’s little, she’s lovely, she’s sweet. She’s the only female feline denizen of the House of Choas and she lets us others know it, oh she does. Practically rubs our faces in it. Reminds us of it every day again. Really can’t start her day without showing off the fact that she is a lovely little girl, with cuteness in mega-store. Tons of exquisite grace all crammed into one tiny furry body.
Yeah, we’re talking about Frankette.
It’s difficult not to talk about her. She manages to insinuate her lithe little person in just about every conversation she can get her lovely little paws on. And just in case you might have entertained the very thought of ignoring that ultra-cute little missy, she’ll prowl around and pounce on your attention anyway, grabbing it with all fours, but being oh-so cute about it so that you can’t complain. Not really no. You’ll just sputter with indignation, bereft of the right words to chastise that little furry minx, and she’ll purr you into submission next. There’s no resisting the über-cute.
But how else can she -that tiny feline lady- cope with a household full of big macho he-cats ? I mean, she must make a respectful detour every time that lumbering big hulk called Bean Sidhe thrundles past, or when that mobile menace that listens to the name of Zorro threatens by. Never mind the ever present problem of a frolicky Hrimnir who never stops trying to play with anything that moves – and that includes little kitties yes. The only other feline denizen who will not try to over-macho poor little Frankette is Loup-Garou, who would rather win the sleeping contest. Being macho is just too tiresome to our dark hedonist.
Hrimnir, however, is by far the most friendly and cordial of our furry friends towards Frankette. His sweet chirrups and gentle nose-rubs are legendary and he never fails to practice them upon his tiny foster-sister. But after the friendly greetings come the swapping paws, the playful swipes, and the brotherly body-slams. Frankette does not want to play all day long, she wants to be left alone in peace, grooming her pelt into perfection, and spending the day in that semi-conscious zen-state that cats are so famous for. In short, she wants to vegetate peacefully, and with that feisty Hrimnir around peaceful is not an option.
And so our Peacemaker may suddenly find himself facing a most irked Frankette. Sweet, little and cute as she may be, when her wrath is aroused you do well to take cover. For she has a mighty hiss, a thunderous snarl, and lightning-swift claws who deftly slice you into perfectly spaced ribbons. Everything this little female does is executed with the utmost grace and elegance, even the fighting. Speed is not rendered less by gracefulness, lethality is not made obsolete by daintiness. Aggression is still on the table, and trying to save your very hide must be paramount in your thoughts whenever you encounter an angry Frankette. Hrimnir, thus, knows very well to take a step back and show proper admiration for such a grand display of righteous feline fury.
He’s also trying not to collapse in helpless laughter, because even as formidable as Frankette’s ire may be, her display lacks a certain je-ne-sais-quoi… which the macho he-cats possess in abundance. Maybe it’s the stature, maybe our chunky Norwegian Forest Cat mix isn’t that terribly impressed by 1 kilo of hissing wrath. Maybe her tail lacks the sheer volume that Hrimnir is wont to display whenever he is angry, because he has a lot more fur than Frankette does. But in the end it matters not, what is important however is the sheer undeniable fact that Hrimnir does take a step back and lets his snarling foster-sister be. For hers is the triumph of having hissed a bigger he-cat into meek submission, for hers is the victory lap: the immediate and straight dash towards The Mistress in order to beg for a well-deserved treat.
Her tactics versus the resident simians are indeed wrapped around getting as much tasty morsels out of them as possible. And if the devastating force of her pathetic “mew” doesn’t crash your stern resolve not to feed her, it must be her imploring little velvety paws, which are placed oh-so delicately upon your knee with such enormous emotional impact. And which imply with sheer intrinsic menace that sharp questions might arise soon if demands are not met now. You hurriedly oblige.
I must confess, though, that most of the time she does not need to threaten the hapless simians into giving her what she wants. She usually gets away with simply jumping upon your lap, or with weaving her soft furry body around your feet whilst emitting pitiful shrieks of utter despair and imminent starvation. When the can is opened and a feline chorus erupts around the opener, her voice can be heard best of all above the din, as penetrating as these high pitched kitty voices can be. You may not believe the downright massive sound that his tiny kitty can produce, but your ears will swiftly tell you otherwise that there walks a mighty little furry tweeter.
Fortunately this does not happen often. Most of the time you can find our sweet cute Frankette softly snoring on the windowsill, or in the clean laundry in the bedroom. Grumpy Man often leaves his underwear drawer open. And then complains about tiny black and white hairs in his underpants and socks.
So tiny. So potentially devastating.
Picture below: battle of the cutest…
Sigh, how time flies… weekend again and that means more feasting on tunatini and tasty stinky goodness. Of course, it all happens on the Friday Ark, also at Catsynth for the Carnival of the Cats, with Kashim and Othello doing Weekend Cat Blogging, and of course Pet’s Garden BLog featuring the Bad Kitty Cats Festival of Chaos. Woohoo !! Partyyyyyy !!!!
House of Chaos 