A conversation about cats

Phoenix encountered Bonus, the big gray tomcat, on the patio a few days ago. Bonus got neutered last month but he is still very much a tomcat's tomcat, complete with muscles, bulk, swagger and attitude. He and Phoenix are normally friendly to one another, except when they aren't, and this was one of those times.

When the dust settled, Bonus was on top of a shelf in the machine shed, Phoenix had claw marks on his nose and I had a house slipper full of snow from trying to prevent either of them from coming to bodily harm. Neither of them were much concerned with me or my cold foot.

Me: Phoenix, darling, sweetheart, sunshine of my life, why did you try to eat Bonus?

Phoenix: He was in the wrong place.

Me: But you and Bonus are friends. He rubs on your legs and lets you sniff him.

Phoenix: He was in the wrong place.

Me: The wrong place? What place is he supposed to be in?

Phoenix: Machine shed. Shed cat.

Me: So . . . he can never be on the patio by the back door?

Phoenix: No.

Me: Why not?

Phoenix: Cuz he’s a shed cat. Belongs in the shed.

Me: What if he wants to come out of the shed? He can’t stay in there forever.

Phoenix: He’ll go back in if he knows what’s good for him.

Me: What about the Adorables? They’re shed cats, too. But you let them come out.

Phoenix: No they’re not. They’re everywhere cats. Can’t get away from them.

Me: Yeah, you got that right.

Phoenix: Idea! Should bring Adorables in the house. House cats.

Me: Um, no. No. Just no.

Phoenix: Yes. All three. You wait. I will get them.

Me: You want Siren, Gryphon and Weezel in the house? Why?

Phoenix: Yes. Everyone gets a kitty. One for me, one for Jamie, one for papa.

Me: I don’t get one?

Phoenix: You get me.

And that is how most of our conversations end, with irrefutable malinois logic.