By day my two cats, brother and sister from the same litter, sleep closely
together, as if they were still kittens and not six year olds. At night, after
my wife and I turn out the lights, they wrassle. No injuries occur, but there’s a lot of noise, and the
match always ends the same way: The boy, six pounds
larger, wins by pinning his sister to the ground for a moment.
Both seem to have a great time, and it’s almost always the sister who instigates
these late-night brawls, depite the fact that she has never, ever, won.
But the best part is after: The boy, victorious, walks through the house producing a variety of loud sounds. You might call these sounds yowling, and you’d be right.
I have won, he says as if for the very first time. And now I issue
this challenge to all within range of my voice. Meet me in battle if you dare!
This goes on for several minutes (No takers, eh? Cowards, all!), until the distractions of a busy night’s rest under the dining room table or on the forbidden sofa come