Today, the Cat Found a Purple Ribbon...

 

Exhibit A: The cat stalks his damp prey

Honestly, who knows where he found it, and who knows what package it originated from: a purple ribbon still tied in a bow, the kind that you might wrap around a candy box or a very fancy wedding invitation (the likes of which we have seen before). H emerged from beneath the dining room table with this purple ribbon and promptly began tossing it around quite pointedly: I really am NOT playing with him enough. You know how it is--when the cat wants to play, it's on us to set down our travails and pick up the proverbial ribbon. 

I had just started to clean the living room when he ran in, and jumped up on his comfy perch and began juggling the ribbon between his paws. This was in the early morning, before he was totally awake, yet not tired enough yet to settle into his five-hour afternoon nap. He sort of wanted to play, so I engaged a bit, and he soon sotted off, the way cats do when they find a thing, kill it, and then get bored. He just toyed with the ribbon for a bit. See Exhibit B. 

EXHIBIT B: CAT FINDS RIBBON

Just now, this evening: I came up from the garden, where I had been for over an hour, and was greeted by Snoozy McSleeperson at the top of the stairs. 

"Oh, you're awake!" I exclaimed. "What a nice surprise!" 

He meowed, slightly aggravated, and my friend A laughed at the cat's tone. 

"He's hungry," I told A, "That's the hungry meow." 

I explained the whole ritual about watching the cat eat and A laughed as the cat settled into his foods and I settled into my rhythmic "good boy" encouragement every time he looked over his shoulder to make sure I was still there. 

I looked away for a moment, and when I turned back towards the food dish, I was surprised to see NO CAT. He had disappeared... but only for a minute. When he reappeared, it was with the ribbon. 

I laughed at him and tossed the ribbon about a foot over his head, where he was perched on the blue brushing pedestal. He reached up and batted at it. I took it from him and threw it again. He tossed it between his paws like pizza dough. I grabbed it and threw it one more time. He batted at it with his left front paw, knocking it away from the pedestal and *bloop!* right into his bowl of water (that he mostly refuses to drink from) on the floor next to his foods. 

"Awwwwwwww..." I said, in sad tones. "No more ribbon."

But H was undeterred. He jumped off the pedestal, went to the water dish, grabbed the ribbon between his pointy little teeth and trotted out to the living room with it in his mouth. Clearly he wasn't done!

We spent some more time playing with the ribbon (now more like a piece of overcooked purple tagliatelle) and his eyes widened until there was pretty much nothing but pupil (aka "spazzy eyes"), looking a little like Dark Willow from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. See Exhibit C. 

Exhibit C: Spazzy eyes of Dark Willow

He toyed with the ribbon for about 20 minutes, sometimes staring it down as if it were a varmint out to steal his best horse. He jumped up on the (now spotless) coffee table and leered at it. Exhibit A (above) shows the standoff between the rascally ribbon and H the hero. He was in it to win it. 

Then, a change of heart: in a gracious act of kindness to the ribbon, he moved from the coffee table to his perch and sat down next to the ribbon. The scent of a possible truce hung in the air. 

Now, it is 7:15pm, and H has called off the Ribbon Hunt and is ready for the nap that precedes bedtime. Here he is right now, with his new friend, Tagliatelle the Ribbon. See Exhibit D. 

Exhibit D: A Truce with Tagliatelle

And that's a wrap for today's antics. 

Live from San Francisco, where the sirens blaze and the ribbons bounce, H and I say good night and good luck (I think Tagliatelle is going to need it).