random thoughts – Day 1,500 – (Thursday) – outwitted

I have been outwitted. Clever, crafty little Miss Kiki’s levels of psychological warfare and cunning are more sophisticated than I suspected. 

Stationed at the top of the stairs.

Within the first few days of her arrival in February, she ferreted out the box spring supporting my mattress. The box spring had ben sawed in half on the long sides and center support, and folded in half to get it up the steep and narrow circa 1930 staircase to the bedroom. Once upstairs,  it was spliced back together with strips of wood and the fabric at the sides and underside of the box spring had duck-tape covering the slices. 

Over the years, the tape came off when caught on a storage bag or box in transit. It was mostly a nonissue. The loose fabric had no effect on sliding the storage boxes and bags under the bed. Non-issue until Kiki arrived, anyway.

Clever little Kiki found her access point in the detached fabric within days of arriving at The BungaLowell, and spent half a week tucked up in various corners of the box spring. The sliced fabric on the sides of the box spring allow for sliding my arm in, but she is always too far away for me to reach with anything but the beam of the cell phone flashlight.

One day during that first week, I sat patiently in the living room, ear cocked for sounds of movement from my feline roommate. When Kiki came downstairs for a sip of water or whatever it was, I sprinted upstairs and closed the bedroom door. Then I congratulated myself on my success.

Back in the box.

In the two months since her excommunication from the box spring, Kiki has set up a rotation of preferred lounging spots – halfway up the stairs, at the top of the stairs, behind the couch, behind the chair, in the hidey bed. When I went to bed, she would camp out under the dining room table randomly meow at odd hours. 

If the meowing seemed excessive or sounded especially plaintive, I would leave my bed to check on her. Sometimes she would let me close enough to pet her, with “close enough” being equal to the length of my arm plus a little extra smidge so I have to stretch. She would even back up a bit if it seemed the position was growing less cumbersome for me.

In the most recent week or two, there was another shift and anytime I approached her, or even entered the room she was in, Kiki ran and hid. When I went up the stairs, she sped down, then would pause at the bend in the stairs to look at me. When I entered the living room, she'd slide off the chair and run behind the couch. To attempt to pet her required me hanging over the back of the couch to barely reach her, wood frame digging into my ribs

Last night, I went upstairs to bed and Kiki ran down, into the living room, and behind the couch. Once I was settled and warm in my bed, she meowed and scratched outside the bedroom door. Quietly. 

This morning, when I opened the bedroom door, Kiki was outside on the landing. This morning, she was very close to the door and when it swung into the room, instead of dashing down the stairs like she has done for the better part of the past two months, she bolted into the bedroom, over to the far side of the bed, and disappeared into the box spring. Clearly she had not forgotten.

Good work, Kiki. Clever, clever girl. Luring me into the relaxation of a routine over a period of months, and then boom! When my defenses were down, she made her move. So that's how it's going to be.  I’m doomed.