Why Can’t We Be Friends?

Wednesday and Berlioz are frenemies. They love each other, while secretly harboring a jealous hatred for each other at the same time. When they think no one’s looking, I catch them grooming each other, or sleeping quietly together on the bed. But more often, a scene such as this unfolds before my eyes.

It starts off with Wednesday going into her favorite cardboard box.

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just a cat in a box.

Berlioz sees her in the box, and slowly approaches.

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just a cat who approaches a cat in a box.

Berlioz and Wednesday both act like they don’t know the other is nearby, even though we all know they have a better sense of smell, sight and hearing than the majority of living things.

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just a cat pretending not to notice another cat.

Without warning, one or the other will decide it’s time to strike.

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just a cat hitting another cat.

And the other will immediately strike back.

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just a cat hitting another cat back.

I’d love to say this ends in both cats snuggled together inside the box, purring in perfect harmony. However, the lack of photographic evidence of this occurrence indicates that no such event has ever transpired.

A girl can always hope.

I’m Only Sleeping.

Today I was off, and I was thinking about my day and what I was going to do. I had a list of things to get done (I actually did most of them!), and I was working my way through the list, when I sat down on the couch for a few minutes. Berlioz jumped up behind me and promptly went to sleep.

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He looks so well behaved when he’s sleeping.

I paused for a few extra minutes to sit with him, but then I had to get up and do other things, like run 8 miles. When I returned from running, I walked into the bedroom, and stumbled upon this:

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Sleeping ball of fur.

I showered and changed in preparation for my next errand, and walked downstairs, only to be greeted by this strangely familiar sight:

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wait…again??

I realized that I’m doing it totally wrong. These guys have the life right here. They’ve got it all figured out. Or so I thought.

I went back upstairs to put away some laundry, and Wednesday was still laying there in the same spot, doing the same thing (that would be sleeping). This time, Berlioz followed me up. He jumped on the bed, and for a split second, I thought he was going to lay down next to her and go to sleep for the third time, but alas, it went a little more like this:

I guess all that sleeping has its benefits – one can unleash those bad-ass wrestling moves at any time and without warning. 13+ hours of sleeping a day sure hones those cat-like reflexes.