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Psychopathic Cats

While waiting for the computer to download some updates, I’m taking the opportunity to empty my head into the keyboard. Hopefully you’ll forgive me if this post is a little disjointed.

It’s dark outside, and rain is falling. Earlier today it was raining leaves. Autumn is here, the nights are drawing in, and the temperature seems to be dropping every day.

The cats don’t like the change in weather. For the last few evenings they have wandered the kitchen, complaining to anybody that will listen. It’s quite difficult for them to communicate their frustrations, given their limited vocabulary. We’re not sure if they are cold, wet, hungry, or just angry at the world in general.

We have two cats. George is a huge ginger farm cat that spends 90% of his time sleeping — curled up on the sofa, the back of the sofa, or one of the kids beds upstairs. Kaspar is a (not so small any more) black rescue cat that lives outside most of the time, loves other cats, and keeps the hell away from all humans except our eldest daughter. We don’t know why.

Yesterday evening Kaspar wandered up to George to headbutt him in that way cats do, and sat alongside — gazing out at the rain through the patio door. George slowly and carefully leaned across and bit Kaspar.

They are psychopaths. They really are.

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