The Cat and the Christmas Party: a Limerick

I had a holiday party for some friends last Sunday. It went down something like this:

My cat, who likes things her own way
Watched my gathering friends with dismay
The hell with good cheer
I don't want you here
So she blocked the route to the buffet

Alright, the poem might be a slight exaggeration, but it’s pretty close. Isabella employed a several Mean Cat battle tactics during my holiday shindig. She started with some impressive stealth attacks from beneath the tablecloth-draped buffet. When that failed to deter my guests, she retreated to the laundry room and pulled few more weapons from her kitty armament: Mean Looks, Scary Growls, and Menacing Hisses. No one needed to go into the laundry room anyway, so this battle station served her well for quite a while.

After a time though, battle weary and overwhelmed by the increasing numbers of the enemy, Isabella was granted an armed escort (my arms) to Headquarters (the bedroom) where she was able to rest, watch the movements of the enemy, and hide under the bed as needed.

Isabella waited patiently until she sensed that the enemy was growing tired and perhaps a little drunk. Then, a second assault was staged from the back of the house. Some guests were challenged as they approached the bathroom (a tricky tactic indeed), others were verbally assaulted in the kitchen itself. As the evening grew long, Mean Kitty became bolder, to the point of smacking at anyone who dared cross her path.

In the end, Isabella triumphantly saw the last guest retreat from the battlefield and the house was once again, under her complete control.

None of this behavior has any direct relation to diabetes, she’s always been unwelcoming to guests. I do admit she has gotten somewhat worse in the past few years – more directly confrontational (ask my sister about that!). In the end, the party had very little effect on her blood sugar. Sometimes I think that terrorizing people is Isabella’s idea of a good time.