Anakin, the Kitteh-From-Hell, has been spending a lot of time taking up the prime real estate that is my lap. He Thwumps down, all fluff and vacant gray-matter, and purrs himself to kitty slumber whilst I watch re-runs of Firefly. This has, apparently, caused discord among the Kitty pack. You see, Ninja, my oldest cat, (Pictured to the left) is the intellectual baby of the bunch. I mean that. At 12 years old, he still won't go to sleep at night unless he can suck on an old ratty blue blanket that's on my bed. B-a-b-y. And he has always been Mommy's Lap Kitteh. And he is not amused that the puckish upstart is taking over. I didn't really notice until last night. Anakin, purring, neurons firing blankly into the abyss, was in my lap when Ninja came around the corner for his nightly snuggle. Ninja stared at us. It was not a kind stare. He was pissed off. I remember thinking that I was going to be made to pay for my fleeting affections. I was right.
This morning Ninja calmly walked up to me while I was having my coffee. I opened up my arm for him to jump into my lap.
He turned around.
He lifted his tail.
He sprayed me.
I am property. I am territory. And I just got owned.