One minute he's curled up on the sofa, purring away. The next he's on the counter top his big white-rimmed green eyes agog. His head jerks back and forth. His abbreviated little tail twitches spasmodically. He's turned into a little Anamatronic kitty.
And then he's off.
A blur of black streaks like a shot across the room, bounces off the wall with all four feet, twists in mid-air and takes off down the hallway. The entire house shakes under the thunder of four paws galloping. He races through the house, one, two, three, four times skidding through turns, claws scrabbling frantically for traction.
Streak. Bounce. Boing. Twist. Zoom. Bow. Bam.
The other six cats look up with bemused expressions, then drift back to sleep. They've seen it before.
Koko makes his victory lap, then leaps into my lap. And a sort of exorcism takes place.The wild green eyes blink, grow peaceful , close. His tense frame stretches, sags, relaxes. Four little paws, still warm from tearing up the floorboards, reach out to touch me. He purrs. He's asleep. It's as if the last few minutes never happened.
Except they do, every week, like a live-theater mini-episode of "The Incredible Hulk" or "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde."
Just what the hell is it? Does anybody else's cat do this?
I guess sometimes a kitty just needs to get his ya-yas out.
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