“Skat!” I call out, but they don’t move, so I engage the
leader in my best beady-eyed stare down.
She casually blinks one eye as if to say, “I’m in charge
here, far too important for your petty games, and you don’t frighten even one
hair of my splendid fur coat.”
Last week, I gave up after this feline trio gnawed my ankles
when I attempted to pass them on the stairs leading toward the attic.
Although I don’t know what’s in that attic, recent bursts of
warm weather have encouraged me to try my spring cleaning again since I’m sure
I won’t want to be cooped up in a swealtering room during the summer. Shouldering my
responsibility, I formed a plan to get on the good side of the terrifying trio and
left bowls of milk and tins of tuna, which the cats lapped clean each day this
week.
Following the head cat’s lead, I pretend they don’t bother
me and place a foot on the stair tread she’s guarding.
The old oak boards creak wildly, and she hisses at me, but I
continue, lifting my other foot onto the step where the other two wait,
anxiously peering around her.
Clear sunshine beams through the leaded glass transom window
above, reminding me of my purpose, and I manage to set a foot onto the landing
while dragging one of the smaller cats attached to the hem of my worst jeans,
which I wore along with old boots as a last resort defense tactic.
With all three clinging with teeth and claws to my lower
legs, I teeter to the doorway and awkwardly mash a hip into the jammed door. It
gives way with a loud creak from rusted hinges, and I gasp realizing why the
cats have steadfastly protected the room.
2 comments:
You've got me curious now -- WHAT is in that room??!!
The cats will retaliate if I tell! ;)
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