The cats are suspicious…..well, they always are at this time of year, as the nights get colder, and the days get shorter. It’s not so much the appearance of sweaters on the Moms, nor the extra loft from additional blankets on the bed [immortalized in a Bernice Summerfield book as “the soft warm place that smells of Servant Woman”]….those things are fine. Even welcome. But….
It’s the Quadrafire. Or, more specifically, the sound of the woodpellets tumbling clinkily down the shute into the crucible of the Quadrafire: plinkity-clicky-clink-clink.
It sounds, very much, like the plinkity-clicky-clink-clinking of kitty kibble pouring into a ceramic bowl, leaving the cats to assume the worst — the very, very worst: Mom is setting the foodz ON FIRE!!!!!!
MOM! FIRE! MOOOOOOMMMMM! Fooooodz! Whyfore you set foods ON FIRE?!!!
and also
But I would have eaten it!!! [@big eyes] I would! Me! Why [@even bigger eyes] FIRE?!!!!
There’s no explaining, of course, any more than there was explaining to my eldest cat that there were NO mice hiding among the vanes of the baseboard heaters, despite the fact that, come October, there were chittering noises coming from the baseboards for the first time in months upon months. The concept of steam hammers is lost upon cats.
Eventually, they conclude that there is still foodz for them, and the heat from the fire is pleasant, and things simmer down again. The Moms are crazy, yes, but apparently still mean well.
Rethorykal Questions 