She is really blossoming in her third week of civilized (ahem!) living. Far from being afraid of Boo and Scout, she is terrorizing them by attacking them at every opportunity. They slap and hiss at empty air, because she is so quick she's gone before they know what hit them.
Her new trick is to climb up on the files and notebooks beside my desk and then take a flying leap into my lap, claws extended and sinking into the flesh on my thighs. I have long scratches on both legs as a result.
If she gets hungry, she materializes under my feet issuing demanding yowls. If she needs a litter box visit, she weaves around my feet muttering in distress. (I really think Boo and Scout have made threats about what will happen if she's caught in their litter box. She thinks she needs to be accompanied by an authority figure. Once, when I didn't get the hint, she resorted to using Coco's puddle pad. Hey, at least I'm not finding surprises tucked in corners now.)
We've been getting a lot of household chores done in our week off. I've had lots and lots of help, not only from Dixie, but from Boo and Scout as well. The dogs are worried I will drop something on them and beat a hasty retreat. The cats are right in the middle of whatever I'm doing, offering helpful advice.
Hoping for a distraction that might save some of my flesh, I got Dixie a little catnip bird that squeaks when she plays with it. That bird is chirping all over the house like something demented. She has Dixie sized tennis balls with bells inside, but they aren't nearly as interesting as the noise she gets from chasing a Milk Bone dog treat around on the tile floors.
About the time I think I'm ready to put her back in the car and make a return trip to that little cemetery in the country, she crawls into my lap, stretches out on her fat little tummy, nuzzles into the crook of my arm, purrs like mad and goes to sleep. When she sleeps, she looks like a little angel and it's hard to believe it's the same cat as Hurricane Dixie.
What have I gotten myself into?