Pickpocket Cat

ImageHe was such a baby when we got him, all of three weeks old, had to be bottle fed, had to have his little bottom wiped so he’d do his stuff.  Now he can’t even fit across the top of the box of tissues and that’s one of his favorite hang outs when I’m getting dressed in the morning.  Why?  So he can steal something!

“Morgen, that’s my make up brush!  No!”

“Morgen, give me that lip gloss tube!  No!”

Running through the house…”Morgen, that’s my contact lens case!  No!”

Running through the house…”Morgen, that’s my earpiece for the phone!  No!”

Running through the house…”Morgen, that’s my (fill in the blank because if he can grab it, he’s ran off with it).  No!”

He doesn’t limit his thieving habits to me, however.  He takes great delight in sneaking into Hannah’s room or bathroom and making off with something of hers just to hear her screech and chase him down.  Little bugger!  And he goes right back to do it again!

Lately, my purse has been his playground if left unzipped.  I followed a trail of items down the hall and then realized what the contents were and the hunt and chase began….”No, Morgen, NO!”  Everyday I have to make sure I’ve zipped all the pockets on my purse entirely closed because he’s learned he can reach a paw in and feel and pull until he snags something if it’s cracked open just a little.  I have a pickpocket cat.

He’s not quite a year old and truly is a rowdy teenager at this stage.  Wrestling the dog is one of his favorite past-times and stealing anything the dog has just makes it more fun!  Mac knows he has to inhale his treats or Morgen will, quick as lightening, snatch it with his hot little paws and pop it between his teeth and then the chase is on.  It’s not that he wants to eat it always, it’s just to steal it.

He normally has a running streak every evening and when he does this he makes a deep, guttural growly meowy sound totally unlike his usual squeaky high-pitched mew that any male cat would be ashamed to own.  He takes off at one end of the house and by the time he hits high speed he’s almost airborne and rockets toward the cat flap-door into the garage where he circles around bounding from shelf to box to whatever and then shoots back through the door, sometimes running smack into whichever cat, dog or person has come to see what the noise is about.  The sound of him hitting that door at full velocity might be similar to a vehicle crashing into the house.  I still jump up and go look.

Morgen has no boundaries when it comes to the other cats and has no problem inserting himself into any situation.  There may be several cats around me but when he wants attention he walks right over them to get it.

The personality of this not so little anymore cat is most endearing and, ahem, at times maddening.  But it’s that moment when he’s draped over my shoulder, head laying flat against me, little paws around me, eyes blinking his love, that melts me.

Sam called it when he first saw him, just days after Hannah brought him home.  “You lucky little kitten.  Your life is all set now.”

And he was right.

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