Ninja Kitty

Currently Reading: The Help by Kathryn Stockett

Current Playlist: "Odelay" by Beck

"I meant," said Ipslore bitterly, "what is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?"
Death thought about it."Cats," he said eventually. "Cats are nice."
--Terry Pratchett

Allow me to introduce Navi, our ninja cat:

No, she is not named after the alien race in "Avatar." Everyone asks me that when I tell them we have a cat.
"Aw, what kind is it? What's its name?"
"She's a little gray tabby, and her name is Navi."
Interest immediately shoots through the roof. "You mean like Avatar?!?"
"No," I reply completely deadpan. "Not at all."
We didn't see Avatar until a month after we brought Navi home. She's actually named after the fairy in The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time game. . . . yeah, super nerdy, we know . . .

Anyways . . .
Two months after the wedding, we brought an eight week old kitten in our apartment, completely unaware that the adorable, playful ball of fur possessed superior ninja abilities. She started pouncing early on. First it was cute, a little kitten, feeling all stealthly-like, wiggling her butt as she prepared for the pounce. Four months later, it's a full out assault. First, she'll vanish. You'll hear her four little feet pounding across the apartment, then silence. You turn the corner, and she's flying through the air, forepaws spread wide, then latch onto your ankle only to bound away and disappear again.

As a kitten, she'd hide behind the papasan chair and jump up and down, trying to bat my ponytail. Now, she's discovered she can fit behind the headboard of our bed, stick her paws through, and grab a pawful of hair or tap unsuspecting fingers. She loves the surprise attacks.

The other night, Chris and I are talking in bed, about to do our evening reading, no cat in sight. Then suddenly "PLOP!" Navi falls out of the sky and lands squarely between Chris's legs, tail waving madly. She was locked up early that night.

As I type this, a pair of oversized, tuffted ears peek over the other side of the table. Then come the eyes. It's like watching Jaw's dorsal fin skim the water. Any moment now, she'll leap onto the table, bound across it, and hop onto my shoulders. When I'm on the computer she prefers shoulders or the keyboard. I wouldn't mind except that sometimes she uses my shoulders as a launching pad.
You see, she's discovered how to get onto the kitchen counter. Half the time, she asks permission. She crawls onto the table or chair, balancing on the edge, and then she looks at me eyes wide. "Meow?"
"No, absolutely not."
She wobbles. "Meow??"
"No, nuh-uh. Get down."
She looks from me to the counter and back, and tries one last time, imploringly. "Meow????"
"No."
And she hops down with a huff, and sits at my feet.

Earlier today, Chris and I were cleaning the kitchen, chatting about childhood toys and all that (Star Action Figures or LEGOS anyone?) when suddenly Chris's expression morphs into horror and he launched forward. "NAVI!!! NO!!!!"
I turn, and there is our cat, dangling precariously from a casserole dish. "Meow??"
The dish inches towards the edge of the counter, and Chris and I grab it. Navi only hangs there, claws scraping the edge of the dish, eyes wild. "Meow???"
She glances from the counter to the ground and back again, then slowly lowers herself to the ground with a "plop." She glares at us, ears twitching, then prances back into the gameroom where she can regain her dignity in peace.

She has to do that a lot, regain her dignity.

She's glaring at me while I type this. I wonder if she knows it's about her . . .