Catfight

I've been home for 24 hours and all hell has broken loose — between the cats.

Before I'd even managed to lug my belongings in from my car, my mom had pulled Oreo out of his carrier and was walking through the house cradling him to her chest, whispering how much she missed him. Because he is her cat, she reminded me almost immediately. She'll be taking him back at some point and Sylvester will come home with me. Sure Mom, whatever you say.

Within minutes of bringing Oreo upstairs to see Sylvester, the fur started flying — literally — as the monstrous Maine coon flew around the room in search of a hiding spot, furballs swirling in his wake. As Oreo tentatively approached, Sylvester flattened his ears and began a deep, guttural growl I've never heard before before moving on to a full-out hiss. (Wait a second, cats growl?!) Then, to my surprise, Oreo — my sweet, loveable, tuxedo kitten — started his own growl/hiss. Before anyone was injured, I scooped Oreo in my arms and whisked him to the relative safety of my brother's room where he'll likely remain for the duration of my "vacation." What fun.

As I write this, I can hear him skulking around upstairs, jumping from the bed to the floor to the bureau, poking around in his food dish for any morsels he may have missed during lunch. Listening to him padding around the linoleum floor, I feel slightly guilty for leaving him on his own. This is not an independent cat; he thinks he's a dog and he demands attention like it's going out of style.

Thump. Thump. Crash.

I'd better get up there before he knocks over another lamp.