by Douglas DeBono, 2006

ARTICLE ORIGINALLY APPEARED AT StandingOrders.BlogSpot.Com, August 25, 2005

We used to have two cats (research assistants actually) named Nicki and Missy. Nicki never cottoned to the idea of a second cat in the house and tended to make her displeasure known.

They had two perches in my office, holding court from their lofty spots, they rarely had anything to do with one another.

I was merely the human who made sure they had something to eat.

I should have realized something was up when I found them in the bathroom scrunched together with their tails twitching in perfect syncopation. I had come to use the facilities.

"Do you mind?" I asked.

Of course, they minded--they were cats.

I opened the toilet lid and this sopping wet squirrel bolted up and over the three of us. I stumbled back unsure what was attacking me. When I regained my footing, the squirrel and cats had vanished.

With visions of squirrel guts scattered over the living room carpet, I rushed after them.

I found them racing about in a wide circle, unsure of who was gaining on who. Suddenly, the squirrel vanished under the sleeper sofa.

"You might have said something, " I chided them.

They just glowered at me, waiting for me to move the sofa so they could continue their chase.

I tipped the sleeper sofa up, and the race was on again. The squirrel did not have much to worry about when it came to Nicki, she was slowing down in her later years, but Missy had a record of delivering trophies to my office door.

They started doing laps again.

I finally opened the sliding glass door in the hopes the squirrel would streak into the night. It took a couple more laps over tables and chair, before the rodent vanished into the night.

Nicki and Missy skidded to a stop, saddened by the end of their game. They scowled collectively in my direction, then went their separate ways.