Attitude

This is a cat.  A cat named Frenzy.  A cat with attitude, none of it good.  She has single-footedly held three six foot teenagers hostage in the upstairs, refusing to let them pass her down the stairway.  She has bloodied ankles and shredded stockings.  She has launched herself out of nowhere to claim unsuspecting victims.  She has gotten stuck in places that made necessary the destruction or disassembly of stairways, walls and eaves, usually by me.  She has eaten what she ought not and regurgitated it at the worst possible time, usually onto something of mine.

This cat is foul and evil and lawless.  She is six and a half pounds of 'don't give a damn' in a fur coat.  We blame it on her lineage, that of pampered momma family farm cat and wild Montana bobcat.  What a coupling that must have been.  Five on the Richter, 160 on the decibels.

She has my husband mesmerized.  She drapes loosely over his shoulder, looking in dull surprise at me as I recount her many flaws and excesses of the day.  He never believes me.