Antics of the ‘attack cat’ make for quite a yarn
My sister and I were in the living room winding skeins of yarn into balls for my mother. All the while we were trying to avoid attacks by our cat Blackie.
Blackie regarded the living room as her own personal Serengeti, and like a lioness she chased down anything that moved in her territory.
My father liked to make matters worse. From time to time he would dole out small doses of catnip to the energetic cat which only fueled her pouncing passion.
I sat cross-legged on the floor with the yarn draped between my hands as my sister wound the yarn.
Suddenly I felt Blackie’s claws dig into my shoulder. She was using me as a platform to dive-attack the yarn dangling between me and my sister.
I was so startled by the attack that I sat frozen in terror. I felt blood weeping down my back from the cat’s scratches. I was only five-years-old and tried very hard to hold back the tears.
Meanwhile Blackie scampered about, making five or six quick turns around us.
She made a strange growling sound and laid her head close to her body. She sat motionless and we sensed she was planning another pounce.
Simultaneously, my sister and I dropped the yarn and fled to the comfort of the couch. We tucked our feet underneath us, leaving the yarn on the floor for Blackie to dismember.
After having her way with the yarn she retreated for cover behind the couch.
I knew we were not going to be able to resume our yarn-rolling until the effects of the catnip wore out, so I started another task.
I took sections of the Sunday newspaper and folded them in a tent-like fashion to build a long tunnel on the floor.
But it was soon massacred by Blackie who ran through at the speed of light. If one dared to have had so much as a toe close to her target, it would have been bloodied in her path.
I played this game with her a while. After about an hour she became sleepy.
She plopped herself down on a spot on the floor that had been warmed by the late morning sun.
As she laid there I stroked her head. Even in a deep sleep her movement continued.
I watched in amazement as her tail slapped the floor every five seconds or so.
With the exhausted cat snoozing soundly just three feet away, my sister and I resumed our yarn project.
The only evidence that remained of the Adirondack attack cat carnage was the surrounding mounds of shredded newspaper.
Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller,lives at Big Moose Lake.ltmitch3rdny@aol.com
