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About 2 years ago, Hubby brought me home a tiny, little, grey tabby kitten.  She was scrappy and insistent and a little hyper, so we named her Tweak after the South Park character who was constantly hyped up and paranoid due to too much caffeine.  I had no idea how appropriate that name would be for this animal. 

In the ensuing years, she has developed a number of confusing and bizarre behavioral issues – one of which involves sitting in a corner, staring up at the ceiling, and “crying” rather loudly.  I don’t know if she’s commenting on my abysmal dusting skills (I always forget about ceilings) or if she simply sees something that we can’t.  Either way, she’s quite successful at garnering our attention when she wants it.

This morning, I’m lying in bed, surfing the net on my laptop, enjoying my lazy Saturday morning, when something white flashed in my peripheral vision, accompanied by a slight “meow”.  I directed my attention to the closet area and waited.  A few seconds later, one of Tim’s white socks arced gracefully up into the air and back down into a pair of grasping, grey paws.  This ritual was repeated four or five times until the sock was apparently beaten into submission.

Now the great hunter cat is nuzzling to get under the covers and snuggle with me.  This, my dear readers, is why I put up with all the hair….


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