Once upon a time Miss Nickel was pretty cool with Mirror Cat.
That was before the arrival of “the juniors,” Torvald and Agatha, who are only safe when they are separated from the older cats by a door. Two of the doors used for this purpose are full-glass now, so Nickel has come to an understanding that the cats on the other side of glass are real and evil, and need to be terrorized whenever they are seen with a full-fledged aggression display.
A couple of weeks ago I was quietly reading in my favorite chair, which occupies a nook garnished with decorative mirrors, when I heard a primitive, Pleistocene growl in my ear. Miss Nickel was telling the spotted cat in the mirror to fuck off and die, without passing Go or collecting $200.00. Over the next few days she moaned contumely at the glass basement door (when no one was on the other side), the dresser mirror, the upstairs bathroom mirror, most times segueing into the kind of hiss that makes you think of a brand on bare flesh or live steam escaping from an over-pressure boiler.
The other night I heard noises from the darkened kitchen. She was blackguarding the glossy, reflective surface of the refrigerator.
I keep trying to get AV of this so you won’t have to take my word for it, but by the time I can get the camera she has always bolted upstairs.
Bengals is crazy. I love her, but I’m glad I’m bigger than she is.