Shhh... then Pounce!

I'm not feeling so well today. I couldn't get up this morning. I tried and shuffled back down the hall to rest some more just after 6. I just couldn't. I was so tired and achy and my head felt weird.

And there's the fact that I sleep so well when my precious puppy is otherwise occupied. So when Unnamed Friend is here, I'm relegated to "that person I know" in a certain canine mind so that she can dote on her new favorite friend. Which means that instead of cuddling with me, then sighing when I happen to shift positions (or nudging me awake to scold the cat when he attacks her), another human must cope with her. If I were a better person, I suppose I'd try to lure the dog in my room.

I'm not a better person.

So the story of the day is that Chienne went to the vet for her allergies - I adore my vet. Then I came home, attempted to get ready for work, then irritatedly put on pajamas and took more Advil and went back to bed. I'm all sick! Achy and nauseated. Foggy and sleepy. And I want to work - I'm not sad or afraid or anything other than suffering from some evil virus. So I slept. Chienne slept. But Sprout?

Sprout has a plan. He aspires to capture the tail of Chienne.

This plan can be enacted in any room of the house, and his target doensn't seem to mind his attempts at hunting.

"They play tail." Unnamed Friend said as I told her, pleased with their ability to interact, despite the sporadic hissing. "One cat will twitch her tail, and the other cat will chase. Moms do it for kittens. Friends do it for friends. It's fun."

"I don't think Chienne knows she's playing tail. But she seems happy enough to be oblivious to it."

The problem with any plan is that there are unforseen snags. And in what could be my favorite picture of sweet kitten, this is Sprout getting whacked with the very prey he sought. The tail wags at the will of its owner, and she's sometimes happy and sometimes sleepy. And the 2 states can morph rapidly, leaving a playful kitten to squint and dart away. Or get hit with a tail.

Either leaves me giggling and reviewing photos in delight as I lie on the bed with Klennex and a bottle of water.

But planning must be instinctual, for Sprout hasn't lived here long enough for me to train him. And while Chienne sleeps and whines and sighs just like I do (I can't remember exactly why, but I said, "You and me? It's like we have the same mind." To which Unnamed Friend replied - while giving me a look - "You realize you're talking to your dog." And I nodded happily, reporting that Chienne wanted to take a walk. I understand the dog quite well.)

I also admire taking a step back and considering your goal, which is what I believe Sprout is attempting to do here.

But then - great little creature that he is - he gets right back to it. He learned from his mistake, backed off a little bit, then stayed low to avoid detection (Chienne did know he was there - she just didn't care. I was petting her head and laughing, so she was quite content.)

Look at the concentration! The narrowed green eyes, the outstreched paw.

I'm so proud.

But, well, sometimes the best of plans go awry. The tail is taken away and you're presented with a head. You can glare at the head or you can avoid getting licked by the tongue that comes out of the head with frightening regularity.

The lovely thing is that I wasn't warning either of them to play nicely. They seem to have accepted each other, and we're coexisting peacefully (or playfully - it depends on the moment).

But since I do enjoy a happy ending, I thought I could conclude with the fact that the tail usually returns - in some form or another.

Sometimes Chienne turns around - not out of any altruistic feelings toward Sprout's plan, but because she was comfortable in her former position.

Sometimes Sprout stealthily moves again so that he is located at her back end, once more prepared to squint, focus and pounce.

I can only hope that I wake tomorrow feeling ready to do some squinting, focusing and pouncing myself.