cat antics Archives - lunocat.com

Not my best work, but still better than Goofus.

The house opens wide

The human pulled a stunt I wasn’t expecting. He opened the place up like a speakeasy with all the doors and windows wide. Sliding glass, front door, even the hallway. For the first time since I moved in, the house actually breathed. A soft breeze rolled in, 79 degrees, humidity high but not unbearable — at least not for St. Louis.

Watching from the cat tree

From my perch on the cat tree, I caught it all. The smells, the sounds, the whispers of critters outside. Birds chattering like gossip columnists, bugs droning their endless song. The squirrels? Quiet. Suspiciously quiet. I figure my presence keeps them away. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

One month on the job

Maybe it’s the lazy air, maybe it’s the timing, but I find myself thinking ahead. Tomorrow makes one month in this joint. I’m weighing it all — the pros, the cons, the grievances. Whether this human’s worth the trouble or if I should start casing an escape route.

A 6:30 standoff

Speaking of trouble, we didn’t get off to the smoothest morning. At 6:30 I pulled out a new tactic in my ongoing effort to break the human in. I stormed the bed like it was a crime scene — running across the covers, pouncing on top of him, purring loud enough to rattle the walls, meowing like a siren in the night. Anything to get him up.

He stirred, stumbled to the bathroom, and I thought I had him. But when he came back, he closed the bathroom door behind him. A quiet move, but I knew what it meant. He was plotting. One more step and he’d lock me out of the bedroom completely. So I dialed it back. I let him think he won and I stayed quiet until 8:30.

That’s when I tried again. And this time, the human got up. Victory? Not quite. Out of spite, he headed straight for the shower instead of the kitchen. No food, no can cracked open, nothing but the sound of running water. Eventually he came out and fed me, but not until after the shower. Point to him, maybe. But the game isn’t over.

The case continues

So I’ll give him that. For now. Tomorrow’s another case file, and an anniversary at that.

—Luna 🐾

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Don’t ask me what I was looking at — I don’t remember.

The freezer door opens

The joint was quiet, too quiet. Then the freezer door creaked open like a guilty conscience. I knew what was coming. Ice cubes. Cold, slick, and mysterious as a stranger in a smoky bar.

The first vanishing act

At first, they gave me the slip. One would slide under the icebox and I’d stake it out for days, certain it had to crawl back out. Didn’t know then that cubes don’t come back. They just vanish, melted away like promises never kept.

The water bowl trick

Later, I learned another trick of theirs. In my water bowl they’d cool the drink, then disappear without so much as a goodbye. That’s when the human got wise—he started dropping them straight onto the floor, just for me. And that’s when I cracked the case: ice cubes disappear no matter where they land.

Better than any toy

Still, they’re fun. More fun than any toy. Even better than an Amazon box—and believe me, that’s saying something. But humans don’t leave boxes out forever. Ice cubes? They’re the real deal. The greatest toy a cat could ever ask for.

The mystery remains

And the mystery? That’s the part that gnaws at me. Since I moved in on July 23, I’ve watched the human shovel out enough cubes to fill ten litter boxes. Yet the supply never runs dry. Nobody hauls them in. Nobody delivers them. They just keep appearing, day after day, from that cold box five feet above my reach. I can see where they come out, but not where they’re born.

So I’ll keep my eyes sharp and my paws ready. One day, I’ll crack the case of the vanishing ice cubes. Until then, I’m watching.