Fluffy

So on the morning after Letterman's hosted his stupid pet tricks, I have an appropriate story for you. (Except that I don't watch Letterman. I'm a Conan kind of girl. I like his hair. And that he used to date Liz Lemon.)



It starts with my neighbors' cats. There are two. I briefly mentioned the half-bobcat cat they have, but they also have a fluffy black and white feline that is either a complete moron in the animal world (like, dumber than a blind pigeon), or the mastermind behind the eventual cat takeover. I'm not entirely sure, because it does retarded things but then immediately redeems itself.

I don't know its name, so I'm calling it Fluffy. And I'm assigning him to the male gender. Just because. I don't have to explain myself.

Fluffy likes to get into trouble. For example, if I may, let me show you a picture I snapped just a few days ago:

Fluffy isn't in the crook of the giant tree.
No, he's on a random branch. Do you see him?

(Also, I've lived here for over five months and it has
yet to occur to the owners of that house that maybe
they should REMOVE THOSE STICKERS from the windows.)

Let's try a close-up:

The moron/genius cat at play. Or at work.
YOU NEVER CAN TELL.

Fluffy is an incredible pill. If you see him sitting on your porch when you arrive home, don't assume that he WON'T dart inside your house as soon as you make the mistake of opening the door.

Fluffy hangs out wherever he damn well pleases, meows his little ass off, and generally annoys the general public.

So last night, I was finishing up dinner and ignoring the laundry that's been begging for some folding since oh, I don't know, LAST TUESDAY, and I heard a weird scratching/banging noise on the side of the house. And then the meowing began. It was SO LOUD.

You all know that it was Fluffy, so I'm not going to leave you in suspense.

I stared at the fluffy nutjob through the glass, and determined that one of two things was happening:

1. Fluffy was stuck on the side of the house, or

2. Fluffy was not stuck on the side of the house.

Because I live on the second floor of the house, I was originally a little concerned. But he managed to get his ass down from the random lofty branch, so I'm sure that he would have found his way down from the side of my house. But I was not about to listen to his incessant whining all night - especially when I hadn't gotten much sleep the night before due to my irritating cold.

I carefully opened the window and he, predictably, darted inside. It's like his freaking m.o., people: darting. I grabbed him, walked downstairs, and placed him outside on the porch.

He was smart enough to stay there, and I walked upstairs and resumed the staring match with my wrinkled clean clothes.

Not five minutes later, he was back on the side of the house. I ignored him this time, and he was gone soon after.

So... moron or genius, this cat?