undercover kitten

Catalina, our torty, ensconced in the sheets: a picture taken last summer, but still good. She says, " hello world. Please don't eat me." Right now the cats are lounging around me on the living room floor. Louise is on the register; Thelma curled up on the rug. Cleo is next to the door, ready to make her escape. Where is Catalina? On the bed, licking her paws, like she knows something the rest of the world doesn't. What might this knowledge be? Perhaps that she would be tasty in a wine reduction. According to Jami, Catalina lived her early life in the wild, escaping predation, living by her wits. Now, even after years of domestic security, this little cat acts quite skittish - as if she is afraid that she'll be eaten. She is particularly afraid that her owners might eat her. She harbors this fear even while rubbing against us and purring like a diesel engine. She purrs like a truck engine on a cold morning - I can hear this cat purring on the other side of the house. I am going to bed now, and it may be that the cats remain in here, perhaps hesitant to disturb my sonorous breathing, my somnolent perorations pro proboscis. I do know that at precisely 6:45 Catalina will be sitting on my chest purring like a diesel truck. Time to eat! Wake up human.