Bite, Hiss, Repeat

I sat down last night and did something out of the normal for me and watched about an hour or so’s worth of TV. Not that I don’t watch TV, I really do. It’s just that I don’t usually get free run of the TV nor do I usually get to watch it on the big screen in the living room. But after my dear husband announced he was going to bed and the college football marathon would finally come to an end, I had just that. My daughter had rediscovered Barbie in her room and my son was desperately avoiding parental contact and I was alone, in the living room, with the remote.

Or so I thought.

It happens almost without my knowledge. A show gets my attention on TV and the next thing I know, something is sitting on me. It’s either a small dog or one of two medium cats. I don’t even know how or when they got there, but I’m absently petting something and my only real clue as to its identity is whether or not it’s purring. And even then, it’s still not a sure bet because the damn Shit Zuh’s snores can trick me up.

And then I’ve become a perch.

If it’s the dog that’s up there first, she quickly tries to take up all the room available to prevent any of the smelly cats (her words, not mine) from joining us. I’ve never quite figured out how she manages to stretch herself across the chair, on top of me, actually reaching nose and tail on each arm rest. Her efforts are somewhat doomed. The cats don’t give a damn and they have no concept of either personal space or ‘I call dibs on Mommy!’ In other words, they just climb up and lay on the dog. Apparently is nothing more offensive to a Shit Zuh, one of borne of royality anyway, than a cat (remember what she calls them) sitting on her. In a huff, she jumps of and leaves me to it. Or them. The cats.

Since they have no concept of personal space, it’s nothing for them to try and sit on me someplace other than the ordinary. You’d think sleeping on my legs would be comfy. It would be easy for me to pet them and watch TV. Not so. My stupid cats will lie on my shoulder, around my neck, on my chest (yes, they can do that!) or anywhere in between. They’re not picky, so long as I’m petting them, they’re purr their empty little heads off.

But just for shits and giggles, I stop petting. Then I get bit. My bad.

If both cats are sitting on me, they may engage in grooming that soon turns to biting then more often than not turns into me getting bit. Again. Oh it starts out all nicey-nice with the petting and grooming and hugging and the purring. They seem like a happy couple, old frick and frack. But soon, the younger of the two – and the male, go figure – decides that it’s time to rumble. Never taking into consideration that their wrestling mat is a feeling human, susceptible to pain and bleeding, prone to bitching and tossing furry asses off her legs, he grabs his friend by the neck and begins to bite. The female, so dumb as to be loveable, retaliates with a couple leg kicks and scratches, about 50% of which hit me. It only escalates from there.

I tried to mediate, but in the end, they’re pissed, freaked out and hissing and I’m pissed freaked out and bitching. Hard to tell who is person and who is female. Easy to tell that I’m no longer in a mood to sit alone and watch TV. It is then I go upstairs and bother my husband in a manner very similar to what the cats do to me. The result is just about the same too. I’m a hell of a hisser!

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