The kitties (well, probably George) got a mouse today. I woke up this morning to find it unattended on the living room floor. When I began making preparations to remove the carcass from the house, however, George decided that it was his. He sat with his paws on either side of the mouse and assumed a smug look, like the sphinx. When I tried to move him out of the way, he tried to make himself an immovable object, and he was pretty darn good at it, for a creature who weighs only 8 pounds. Then he started playing with the mouse like one of his toys. I had to hold him back with one arm while trying to pick the mouse up with the other hand.
And as soon as I moved the mouse, he started prancing all over the living room like a conquering hero. Now, of course, he can't find it, so he's keeping an eye on Maury, has him trapped on the chaise lounge, keeping him there with growlings and mutterings. I think he thinks the other cat stole his trophy.
From proud, conquering hero to angry, growling old man.
* Stringham high: DVDs of old TV shows
* Stringham low: grumpy old man kitty
* Stringham super-high: coooooooofffffeeeeeeeee