Freya is soooo generous with her head-butts… she just can’t stop butting her lovely furry head against each and everyone, yes even everything. The sight of that lithe grey-striped figure ambling over in search of some love -and quite single-mindedly determined to get it- is a marvel to behold, but sometimes you can’t help but dread her approach. Because she is wont to be more than generous with the physical manifestations of her undying love, i.e. head-butts, and that is a sure and certain invitation to… disaster.
Typically it goes like this:
she jumps onto your computer desk and
you get a head-butt and
your hand gets a head-butt and
the mouse gets a head-butt and
the keyboard gets a head-butt and
your mug gets a head-butt and
your CPU gets a head-butt and
the reset-button on your CPU gets a head-butt and…
Yes. That’s right. Ah, the marvels of modern technology and love-starved kitties. Forget the all-important details you were just typing. If you hadn’t been quick enough to save your hard work of the last 15 minutes (or 3 hours), that’s just tough luck. When Freya wants to be loved she’ll come and get it, and if that stupid flickering box in front of you takes up all of your precious attention instead of her august little self… well, tough luck for that box too. Yet you can’t fault her for using the direct approach either. By now our little furry lady knows her pet Simians very well indeed, and she’s learned long ago that nothing short of an EMP-flash will tear us from our flickering boxes. If there’s no handy EMP happening, well, then push must come to shove. And head meets button.
Talking about boxes: Freya considers cardboard boxes the ultimate playpen, to be played with, at, in, upon, under, through and around. But she also approaches any box with the typical behaviour we have come to call the “typewriter”. It consists of our lithe grey-striped feline lady sitting in said cardboard box, positioning her tiny yet formidable fangs just so over the rim, and then chomping off little bits – one by one. She spits out the bits whilst chomping and at the end of the row she will go back to the beginning and start anew. Chomp chomp chomp chomp SPIT. Chomp chomp chomp chomp SPIT. In the end nothing much is left of the -by now- forlorn box but a respectable pile of discarded bits of cardboard. Freya is nothing if not thorough.
Isegrim, her illustrious offspring, seems to be cut from the same tree. He too likes boxes to play in. One of the most endearing pictures I have snapped of the twain (so far) was when Freya was recovering from her spaying surgery, had crept inside such a box in order to zonk out, and Isegrim decided to stand guard in front of her and the box. His faithful protective watch while his dearly beloved mommah was semi-comatose is not something I will soon forget. But he too likes to destroy cardboard boxes when he happens upon them, and when Freya woke up from her anesthesia-induced slumber they both joyfully did away with the hapless box.
Freya has become known in the House of Chaos as the Mistress of Mayhem, and especially shows it off when she negotiates the cupboards in search for a petting hand or a quiet spot for a nap. We Simians tend to clutter said cupboards with all kinds of knick-knacks, books, letters, junk mail, tools, mobile phones… the works. But when Freya passes by and snuggles in we’d better go and save what we can from crashing into the floor because where she takes up space all that stuff has to go. Never mind that it makes for a cozy bed. In fact, Freya likes cozy. She likes to have stuff piled up around her. But once a-slumber she is wont to move in her sleep and said piles never stay put. Thus you will find a huge load of paperwork and assorted items noisily cascading off the cupboard and one kitty waking up grumpily, staring at you with slitted accusing eyes radiating the message: “Why the ruckus ?”
It’s never her fault of course. She was never awake to know. Or so she claims.
Strangely enough she can move with exquisite grace around those assorted objects at other times. We have witnessed her negotiating the weirdest routes on, over and through the cupboards and not cause a single item to crash down at all. She will daintily put down each paw with infinite care, judging every tentative step with an expert eye for distance and mass, and float gracefully all the way without any mishap. To watch her move is to observe poetry in motion. She is impeccable, lithe, lovely and very very careful.
Yet sometimes she simply ambles through. And that is when things go down. Hard.
Picture below: The Mistress of Mayhem caught red-haaah… red-teethed in the act.