Chessfreak's account of Idget and the headless cat reminded me of something that happened to us a few months ago. Patty and I were traveling with our furry tribe and had stopped to visit, by invitation, one of the regulars on this ng. The names have been changed to protect the guilty
Anywho, said host was showing us around his sumptuous, almost palatial, home and waxing eloquent on his many arts and crafts interests. There was a small grandfather clock he had built from scratch and hundreds of small, exquisite creations he had made of blown glass and intricate creations of hummingbird feathers (only breast feathers, because they are the most delicate and hard to obtain, naturally).
He also went on and on about how proud he was to meet our cats, about whom he'd read so much, and so forth, but of course one mustn't put the same value on dumb creatures as one does on humans, etc, etc. Cats are great for entertainment, but blah blah blah.
About that time Willoughby, who was wandering around admiring the many objets d'art, under the watchful eye of the owner, stuck his head in a small basket, curious as to what it might contain. Immediately our host flipped the lid shut over Willoughby's head and laughed loud and long at our kitty standing there, head upraised, trying to see through the basket. For some reason he thought that was terribly funny.
What he didn't realize was a cat's reaction to such a situation; Willoughby figured he stuck his head into it walking forward, so the way to unencumber himself of this burden was to walk backwards. And backwards. Faster and faster, more and more vigorously. In just a moment he was flying around the room backwards, blinded by the basket, trying to shake it off.
First he backed over the clock. It exploded into hundreds of tiny parts, little clockwork wheels rolling all over the place. Then he went through the collection of glass figurines, accompanied by screams of anguish from their owner and creator. Before he could be stopped, Willoughby sent feathers flying in all directions, helped along by the breeze from the air conditioner.
As I headed out the door with my menagerie, I remarked to no one in particular that, yes, indeed, cats do put on a pretty good show.
I wasn't sure if the plate that sailed over my head as I got in the car was aimed at me, or Willoughby, or the world in general, but I decided to wait until later to assess the insult, if that's what it was.