The darndest things set these critters off. Cherokee is not very active, so I don't expect much out of him. Between age and arthritis he doesn't get around much anymore.
Just this afternoon he was lying next to me on the couch, sound asleep. He probably would have remained still the rest of the day if I hadn't noticed a thin ribbon of cloth on the floor next to where Patty had been cutting out a new dress. Wretch that I am, I picked up the cloth and started dragging it across Cherokee's face, tickling his whiskers.
He slept through several passes, then suddenly, I swear, I heard his eyelids 'click.' Slowly, tantalizingly, I tickled his whiskers, chin hairs, nose hairs, ear hairs, until finally, without moving his head, he closed his jaws around that piece of material and hung on. Then he went back to sleep, still holding the cloth. I guess he wasn't in the mood.
Samantha isn't all that playful, but she occasionally gets her kittenish side in gear and puts on quite a show.
This afternoon I was sitting in the garage smoking a cigar with the door closed and the lights off. Sunlight was streaming through the space between the door and the frame, and the smoke started curling lazily through that bright shaft of light. Enter Sam.
With a glad cry she launched herself at the lit-up curls of smoke and began batting at them frantically with both front paws. Apparently she thought they were something solid, because the more they scattered from her paws, the more frantically she swatted them, jumping high into the air and even trying to stuff them into her mouth. And of course, the faster she swatted, the more they dispersed. What was really funny was when she'd leap through the sunlight and suddenly find herself in the dark with no smoke visible. I could almost see her scratching her head. . .Aha! There they are, sneaking up behind me. Well, no old smoke is going to ambush. . .now where did they go? They were here just. . .Aha! No, you don't! You aren't sneaking. . .whoops, now where. . .?
That was when Patty opened the door and the sunlight lit up the whole garage. Suddenly Sam was surrounded by gremlins. Instead of just one or two, now there were hundreds, all swirling around in the gust of air from the open door, trying to gang up on her.
Patty stared at Sam's swiftly retreating back as she barreled though the house and under the sofa. "Now what?" she asked, but I couldn't say.
Cats, you gotta love 'em.