Darth Jingles is three. Yay … All right, here’s the thing on
that: she’s a brat, but she’s a full grown brat. We raised her from a tiny
kitten, too small to even jump up on a bean bag or chair. She’s lived in our
house almost her entire life, and mostly enjoyed being a spoiled only-cat. The
youngest sibling, baby of the family, and so on.
That being said, I’m watching her wander around the family
room ‘exploring’ like there’s anything left to explore in this house. Okay, she
hasn’t been on top of the kitchen
cabinets or in the attic. I think that’s it. Every nook and cranny of the
basement and garage? Check. On top of the entertainment system, including
speakers? Check. On top of each and every bookcase that doesn’t come close to
meeting the ceiling because these are not standard height walls? Check. Inside
bathroom cabinets and (I still cringe) the kitchen ones as well? Check. Pantry?
Check. The gas fireplace is sealed, that isn’t happening. Dream on, cat.
It’s a tad irritating to walk into the family room, pass the
fireplace, TV, Blu-ray, cat, shelves of DVDs, back up – the cat is sleeping on
top of the Blu-ray? No. Get down. She’s good about not needing to be shooed
away from places multiple times. I haven’t seen her on the Blu-ray since. Hubby
chased her through the house after the kitchen countertop and dining room table
incidents, no further problems. She’s allowed on the bathroom counters, but not kitchen and she knows the difference. We
can leave a can of tuna up there and she won’t touch.
All that being said, it’s her house. The giant bean bag that fits three teenagers is hers. She sleeps in the middle of it and
won’t move for anyone. If Jingles chooses to sleep on the living room sofa, so
be it. Somehow she knows Mommy doesn’t like it if she sheds there, and keeps it
to herself. That’s kind.
She has a basket in The Girl’s room on her bed. Another by
the window in my room, and another in the living room. In The Boy’s room she
has a shelf in front of the window with her own pillow and the entire top bunk of his bunk beds. Oh, and she has a kitty
bed in the laundry room, because it had to go somewhere. That was before she
staked out spots in every other room and we had this insane idea she’d sleep
there. Silly humans.
Outside, Jingles has her glaring spot. We all know it by
name, even many of the neighbors, and she can be found there when she’s upset
with us or in the later afternoon. She likes to sit there and watch people come
home from school, then work. She sits there, where she can see the cul de sac,
quietly watching, judging, condemning.
Once darkness falls and the neighborhood is silent, she
hides in the shadow of a bush and makes her family call to her. Always three
times at least, she prefers four. Jingles listens for the irritation in the
voice of the Great Furry One (Hubby – he has a beard) and decides if he’s game
for one more round or if she should come this time. Sometimes she guesses wrong
and she’s out for the night. Or she gets caught in a neighbor’s garage. Perhaps
something interesting is more promising than a warm bed with her children. (The
Great Furry One breaths loud, The Girl kicks, The Boy sneaks out of bed late at
night to play video games, so a good night’s sleep at home isn’t guaranteed.)
Most of the time Jingles comes in for the night, it makes
Mommy and her children happy. Kitty-Mommy gives her tuna, and Darth Jingles puts
off her condemnation of us at least for another day. I’m serious, the cat looks evil most of the
time. We love her for it.
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