My cat, the Prizefighter

I have a cat.

He's kind of a funny creature. For a cat, he's extraordinarily well-behaved (mostly). He comes when called (usually), growls when there's a stranger at the door (seriously!), sleeps outside my bedroom door (probably would sleep IN my bed if I let him), and gives lots of lovey greetings when I come home from work.

Sounds like an average cat, right?

Except, I suspect Bear (my cat) was an Irish Prizefighter in a past life.


You see, he loves to box. Many times I have come home to see my husband playing bloody knuckles with him, and you can't wave anything -- umbrellas or walking sticks or curtain tassels -- around without expecting a fight. He'll box with my purse if I hang it from the chair, he'll attack the plastic bags from the grocery if they so much as look at him funny.

Yet, for all his wild athletics, he maintains the quiet dignity of a gentleman from the 1900s (including an awesome mustache!). Who, me? I'm stretching before taking on the side of the couch! It insulted you, dear lady, behind your back!

My husband's cat, on the other hand, was a certain, fearless Civil War general (Stonewall Jackson) and a Sous-chef in his previous lives. (He has to inspect everything we put on our plates.)

It's never dull around here, to say the least.

~*~

Heather S. Ingemar has loved to play with words since she was little, and it wasn’t long until she started writing her own stories. Termed “a little odd” by her peers, she took great delight in exploring tales with a gothic flair, and to this day, Edgar Allan Poe continues to be her literary hero. To learn more, please visit: http://ingemarwrites.wordpress.com/ or follow her on Twitter: http://twitter.com/heatheringemar