|In soviet Russia, cat own you.|
This weeks political feline fuss seems to involve territory. We have had non nuclear skirmishes <although the Queen of pain looked tempted to go atomic on the Apricot horror >, Covert op's, and full on field battles.
Tensions started when The grand dictator Mystery decided to annex the dining chair Ruth sits on, formerly a dominion of The Mimlish protectorate. This resulted in some exploratory sniffing on the part of Mim, and some bad natured grumbling, and several whacks to Mysteries nose. In an escalation, Mystery hid the flashing toy ball, and attacked her on the way to breakfast. Mr Pie watched with interest.
|I shall rise once more.... after I have cleaned these toes.|
This carried on for several days, until one evening, I couldn't find Pie anywhere. Eventually Ruth found him, disguising himself as curtains, and draped Across the back of the sofa. His covert takeover of this piece of prime territory has passed the other two by. They don't seem to find snoring haberdashery strange.
|It will be curtains for the others.|
Mystery has since retaken the laundry basket, located primely next to the bathroom radiator, and is asleep on my dirty jeans. In a shock move he also, earlier, went to sleep in the Apricot horrors bed. Mystery is clearly an aggressive expansionist. I think he needs the room for his saggy belly.
Mim was not giving her next move away, but earlier she did stalk Mystery, and they hissed at each other, so it's not over yet, not by a long stretch. She is pretending to be asleep on the bed, biding her time, and plotting her rise.