29/12/21 George the Midnight Gymnast

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George has come out from under the bed.

She has decided that we are acceptable human beings worthy of her attention and, occasionally, her time.  Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, she struts from beneath the bed to greet our bleary eyes in the morning light.  "What's wrong with you?" she seems to purr.  "Why the slow start?"

What me?  Hide under a bed?  Never!

 

George is now so comfortable with us that she has taken to midnight gymnastics as a way of letting off steam and celebrating life.  At odd hours throughout the night we wake to George casually scratching the filing cabinet as a precursor to her calisthenics.  We lie awake in the dark, holding our breath, waiting...

 ... and off she goes, a thunder of paws from the kitchen, through the living room, past our bed, a rapid u-turn outside the bathroom door and back the other way; and again; and again...

George is invigorated by her midnight mazurkas.  During the day she assumes a position of supervision on the window sill. Our neighbours, bless them, have undertaken to babysit a dog for the duration of the Christmas break.  They did not ask George's permission for this, nor did they inform her of the arrangement when it started.  George is much affronted and watches the illegal dog with close attention from behind her window pane, doubtless taking cat notes on it's transgressions.

There's a dog next door.  A dog!  How was this allowed to happen?

George has assumed oversight of all our work related activities, sauntering in a proprietary manner across the keyboard and retreating under the bed to sulk when firmly informed that no-one appreciates a face full of tail when making work (or personal for that matter) phone calls. George and I have had several clashes over boundaries and I suspect I am now her third-favourite person after her owner and Roger, who is easily persuaded into a good chin-scratch in front of the TV.

Pushing the cat-bum-face limits.
 

All of this positivity from George is a Very Good Thing and will stand our reputation as cat whisperers in good stead, but to be honest I'm very happy when George retreats back under the bed for her midday nap: George the In Your Face cat can be hard to take in anything but a moderate dose.

Me wake people in the middle of the night?  Nope.  Must be your imagination.

Not George.  Because I'm tired of cat pictures.


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