Okay, let me back up: calantha42, has gone to Edmonton to visit her family for a week. This leaves me, and the cat. Now the cat, Danny, through some cattish instinct, is aware of the fact that he's *her* cat, although he seems to spend a lot more time trying to sit on my head than on hers. But I suspect that in his head, the order of seniority goes Danny, calantha42, me. So to him, with her out of town, that leaves him in charge. He's wrong, of course, but you try explaining pecking order to a cat.
He has this annoying prediliction for crawling under my bed and doing... gods know what, I've never asked. Like his odd obsession with the bathtub, I'm happy to just be sure I'm catching him at it before he... does it, whatever it is. Unfortunately, I don't always know he's under there, and several times I've shut him in there all day when I leave for work. Another thing I can't seem to explain to him. It's all very well to be stealthy, but get too stealthy and people might forget to feed you.
This morning, I couldn't find him. For almost an hour, after insisting I be up at quarter to six, he vanished. I looked behind the curtains, on the kitchen chairs, in calantha42's closet. Finally, as I'm sitting at my desk, drinking my tea, I hear a scratching noise.
Now, I *hate* it when he does this vanishing act thing of his. He usually will disappear, ignoring all requests to re-appear, and then pop up right in front of you, out of nowhere, and then haul ass in terror when you scream. He follows this up by an hour or two of glaring, for making such a loud noise.
So when I heard the scratching noise, I knew exactly where he was, and I was neither in the mood for a Ninja Kitty attack nor two hours of sulking when I get home from work to find he's been locked in my room all day
"Danny," I said, in the general direction of the bed.
*scrabble, scrabble,* went the noise.
"DANNY. COME OUT."
*scritch, clatter,* he replied, as his tag scraped along the floor.
So I kicked the bed.
Out shot a furry black-and-white blur at a speed I've only seen approached by squirrels and things driven by jet engines.
Which then proceeded to trip on the vaccuum cord three seconds later and go skidding, back legs splayed, halfway down the corridor.
And then stop and glare meaningfully in my direction, before skulking off to lurk in calantha42's closet.
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I am a dog person. Finding dogs in the house is easy. They don't hide in closets. They rarely crawl under your bed and hide there (with the exception of Poms). They more or less never sneak up on you. You just say "biccie," and they come running.
Fucking cat. *facepalm* ;)