Gender Bender

I would know the larger of my two cats was a male even if I hadn't taken him to the vet to have his berries removed the first week he lived with me, because he makes such a huge show of pawing the wall after he's used the litterbox, instead of actually moving any sand, much less covering his business with it. Kitty gets in after with an offended, fussy air and covers it up for him. That's how I would know Kitty is a female- that and the fact that all he has to do to piss her off is look at her.

While gathering reading material for the short ride to Britan's Christmas program in the valley yesterday, I dropped a paperback book on my rumpled bed, next to a blob in the covers. The blob said, "meow?" so I poked it, and it growled. That made me poke it again because it was funny, and every time I poked it, it meowed. After poking out the rhythm to Jingle Bells, I lifted the top blanket and found Kitty peering out, pupils dilated, her orange and black fur a spiky, static crop. She was cuddled up to my rough but incredibly warm heirloom Hudson Bay wool trapper's blanket, the one Grandma embroidered her initial on (in green floss, a block 'M' so it wouldn't be confused with her sister Angela's). I couldn't blame Kitty. I put the coverlet back down and poked the blob again. It hissed, so I buried it with throw pillows.