This morning she was attempting to be a sweeter cat, camouflaging herself as just another of the pillow cats.
I am not the only target of Dixie's mayhem. Poor Scout is continually hunting for a spot that will put her out of aggravation's way. Dixie hasn't quite figured out that she can jump up on things without there being something soft she can anchor her claws into, so Scout spends her day sitting on the tops of desks or dressers or other pieces of furniture above Dixie's present reach. (I haven't got the heart to tell Scout it's only a matter of time before Dixie figures out there are springs in her feet. I hate to see a grown cat cry.)
I was chagrined to discover that one of Scout's places of safety is endangering some of my miniatures displays. I glanced over at the piano the other night and there was a cat where there shouldn't be a cat. She was curled up fast asleep on a gardening vignette. I've since made a stab at convincing her that it is not a good napping place, but so far she isn't paying the slightest bit of attention.
We have an appointment with the vet on Friday morning for a follow up exam for Dixie. I am anticipating that the doctor will be impressed with how much she has bounced back from the scraggly little waif I brought in two months ago. I, on the other hand, may be advised to get a long rest in the country.
I realized this morning that Boo and Scout went through this stage and I lived through it. However, they had each other to beat up on and that spared the rest of us a lot of scars and blood-letting. They've turned into pretty good cats. And it only took 3 years.
Lord, have mercy. Two and a half more years before I can expect Dixie to be a little lady cat.