We have a pretty cat. Another pretty cat.
Angel loves to hide around the house, and one of her favourite spots is my closet.
Which is fine.
We got Angel because someone told us cats do better in pairs and, like all good cat owners, we wanted our other cat, Minion, to be happy. On the wafer thinness of this advice, and upon hearing on the pipeline there was a kitty special at the local RSPCA, Tracey took Miss11 to see what was available.
“The special’s finished,” Tracey told me when she called.
“That’s okay,” I said. “There’ll be another one.”
“That’s going to be a problem.”
“Because we’ve driven away and your daughter is crying because she’s fallen in love with a kitten back there.”
So we got our Angel.
And, I have to confess, I’ve become a little attached. Or rather, I had. Truth is, though, this week our relationship has become a little strained. You see, contrary to the stellar pet advice we’d received, our two cats have been struggling to find common ground.
Mostly Minion just chases Angel around the house until Angel manages to hide somewhere.
Like my closet.
“What the hell is this?” I asked Tracey. I was staring at my shirts. Oddly, I’d found several with stains on their collars. “Looks like rust.”
I went to lean in for a sniff.
Tracey glanced over my shoulder.
“Don’t do that,” she advised me.
Now that was great advice.
Turns out little Angel has been leaving shit prints on my shirts.
In related news, she needs to find a new hiding spot.
“Raising a family on little more than laughs.”