A few months after I adopted a gray and white domestic short-hair cat; Rascal (who fit his name PERFECTLY), I had to move back home while waiting for my first ever house to be built. There was a gap between my apartment lease and the new property closing by a couple of months. Mostly Rascal was relegated to the basement where the TV room and my Granny's bedroom, bathroom etc, were located. There was also a finished bar in the area next to the TV room.
The bar was really more of a catch-all than anything else. Books, plants and some clothes that Granny was planning on ironing. The ironing board was always set up perpendicular to the bar, since that was the most convienent way to position the iron with the wall outlet. Rascal loved to jump up on the bar and investgate and I suspect to survey his surroundings.
My Granny had a gray sweater that I brought her from London. It was a fuzzy cardigan, and although it was lightweight, it was warm. She wore it often. During that time, Rascal would sit on the bar and watch her iron. One day he got it into his kitty brain that the gray sweater was the enemy and he pounced on my poor little 80 year old Granny's back. He scared her, and I'm sure she sacred him right back. Never to be one to back down from a challange, my Rascal hunted my Granny's gray sweater till the day we moved out to our own place. If she was sitting watching TV, he'd pounce that sweater from behind. Any opportunity, he took it and he always caught Granny by surprise.
Rascal:
Extra Credit:
Our family cat Benji once jumped off a chair to head outside through the sliding glass door. The door was opened, which he was well aware of, but he didn't know the screen was closed. He crashed through the screen in such a way that he left a perfectly cut cross that wouldn't allow any bugs in, but became the perfect cat door. My Dad kept wanting to replace the screen, but my Mom wouldn't let him because in good weather, she never had to worry about letting Benji in or out.
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