I have a stalker

I have a stalker.

Even in this rather restricted basement setup that I currently occupy, waiting for my next surgical procedure. Where it takes but a few steps to reach from the main room to the laundry area and a small setup to fix breakfast and a make-do toilet. A toilet with no plumbing.

That's a whole other story.

My stalker has medium-length hair, with specks of charcoal gray, and silver. Green/gray eyes that gaze at you, sideways and head on. A nose that can sniff out any odor or non-odor from great distances, even multiple floors above my basement perch.

Short, yet nimble legs, that dart in and out of small spaces, quicker than you can blink. Quicker than you can try and close a door. Quicker than crumbs, falling to the wall-to-wall carpet.

Have I forgotten anything? Oh yeah......there are two pairs. Of those quick, nimble legs.

A long charcoal gray tail that rises when she is up to no good. A crown that needs scratching every day around 3:00 p.m., if you want to get on her good side. Down her neck, if you want to remain there.

And yet, she stalks.

Every morning, when I prepare my fruits and cheese, or cereal with flax seed. Before I've even finished cutting my fruit, she's there. Right behind me, waiting for me to turn around. If I choose to ignore her, she'll move forward, in a threatening manner. One step forward from me, and she'll move to block the doorway.

All of one feet tall, and she has the menacing look down pat. For good measure, she'll throw in a "not by me".

"Move", I tell her.

She sets her paws more firmly into the floor. "Nope" she says.

"No way you're getting anything today. Now move."

"Not doing it."

This may go on a for a few more moments, trading idle threats until I finally relent and throw her a piece of cheese. I get a hiss for good measure, and off she goes, throwing me a backward glance that clearly tells me she's not done yet.

Stalking me, that is.

Not done, whenever I treat myself to a popsicle, quietly removing the plastic wrap while I tiptoe back from the laundry area, when I realize she's at the foot of my bed, waiting for me. WTF! How did she materialize?

Not done, whenever I go for a late night snack. I open the refrigerator door and before my hand has even withdrawn a cookie or some other delectable, she magically appears two feet away, with the same look usually reserved for our breakfast showdowns.

Not done, whenever I need to resort to eating apricot paste, for a case of constipation. I haven't even fully opened the wrapping before I hear footsteps scrambling down the stairs, from two floors above. That one usually gets me several meows, a hiss and a pawing at my hands. Fortunately, she was de-clawed at a young age.

Now if we could just do something about her teeth.

Double hiss. Up yours. 


MEEOOWWWW!