Dear Brethren,
As we roll into August, the summer wanes and the Lodge often βgoes dark,β with fewer special meetings planned. To allow you (and me) more opportunity to enjoy the remainder of the season, Iβll keep this brief and lighthearted.
Our cats want to kill us. Not yours, oursβthose residing under the same roof under which my wife, Liz, and I reside. We have a boy cat and a girl cat, Alyosha and Natasha (Yoshi and Tasha for short), named after characters from Dostoyevskyβs great novel, The Brothers Karamazov. They are siblings of an apparent mixed Abyssinian and tabbied descent, adopted from a shelter. They light up our lives. They want to kill us.
Some evidence of their preparation follows. To my understanding, not every cat makes dexterous use of the hidden βsideβ claws (dewclaws) on its front paws. Our cats (especially Yoshi) have managed to turn their dewclaws into weapons of menace, catching our clothing unexpectedly as we pass by. Theyβre both little Houdinis, dashing out into the courtyard when my wife and I come home after a long day at work. Despite our best efforts, theyβre learning how to digest human food. Meanwhile, Tasha can stand up on her hind legs and open doors by pushing down their lever handles and pushing or pulling them open, in the latter case swinging her body back for leverage. She also hops on to my stomach when Iβm under the covers, clearly honing her abilities to pin down a βhoomin.β
We also take a significant amount of physical and emotional abuse from them. Our cats pull open cabinets and let them slam shut to alert us that they need attention at 3am. I got a nasty scratch trying to help Yoshi up to a high place he was trying to reach. While yet a kitten, Yoshi almost slashed Lizβs eye while jumping at a dangling necklace. And oh, do they know how to manipulate us with their plaintive meowing when playtime (e.g., throwing toy mice which we then fetch because they wonβt) is desiredβIβm sorry, Yoshi, required. Please donβt kill me.
Lest you should ask, dear reader, please note: should I die, you may not have all my stuff.
Sincerely and fraternally,
Brother Andrew Merenbach