Doncha Think?

The tragedy of Irony Lost on Somebody was implicit in my last post. Alert Reader Danielle commented on it, and now, thanks to her, I have Irony on the Brain.

Apparently, I have Pompous Capitalization Syndrome as well.
But that is beside the point.

Last night Jared and Travis-cat had a major falling-out which was precipitated by Travis's predatory behavior towards Emily-cat. Travis had slept the entire day on Sam's bed and when he finally awoke late in the evening, he expended his energy by picking on and ambushing Emily (who is, as you may recall, 16, arthritic, almost deaf, and has snarkiness issues). Jared defended Emily, and the result was that Travis bit Jared, who retaliated. Travis puffed out like a blowfish and retired, shaken, under a chair for the rest of the night.

Now to my point, and I do have one.

I spent the whole evening concerned about Travis's well-being, because I had never seen him so affected. He refused to come out. Eventually, I went to bed.

This morning, he was still AWOL. Sam informed me that Travis had spent the night under the covers with him. Soon, all my men left the house for the gym or their jobs. Shortly thereafter, Travis loped casually downstairs.

He came into the office where I sat at my computer. He jumped up and I made a huge fuss over him. Many embarrassing kittywittyisms escaped my lips. He purred, bounded down, and went into my bedroom.

And yakked up onto my aubergine carpeting.

And then into the hallway, the dining room, and the kitchen, yakking all the way.

To hell with him.