The black hand

Matthew is the top cat, meaning he is the ruler of the feline world in our home. He bosses the brothers around, and generally watches over me, protecting me from harm.

This morning, while doing my morning stretching, I saw Matt attacking the dust ruffle on the bed. I thought he was going after the pens and pencils, but that really isn’t his thing. Cowboy Joe and Frank carry those items all over the house. Then, I saw a black arm (excuse me, Dr. Kainer, forelimb) protrude from underneath the bed. It was Frank, teasing Matthew to attack it. Matt went after Frank’s paw, with a great deal of hissing and growling from Frank. They repeated this over and over. Frank never came out from under the bed until Matthew got tired of the game and left.

I love to watch cats play. Who doesn’t? Frank and Joe get into it as kittens do, the full body armor type of play where they grab each other and pounce on each other like world champion wrestlers. Their play with Matthew is entirely different. It is cautious and from a distance, with much chasing and diving into safe places.

Frank and Joe also mutually groom each other. Matthew relies on me. He also has to help me eat breakfast, and at this moment, is draped over my left arm as I type. His meow to me right now is the “I’m just a little kitty” meow. My tough guy is a mush cat at breakfast. I’ll groom him, but he can be brushed. I refuse to lick his fur.

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