This is Penenlope.
This is the kitchen counter top where she lives. That’s her bed and her bowl there next to the dish rack. We call this space “Penelope’s Boudoir”. She lives here because certain other cats who live in my house will chew her to bits if she wanders off this ledge.
This is the “Water Wing”, where we keep her water dish wedgd between the drain board and the back splash; experience has taught us that this is the best way to keep Penelope’s beverages from drenching the kitchen floor when certain other cats who live here pay her a surprize attack visit, which always sends the crockery flying. No, Penelope, I don’t hear Panda or Cindy Lu sneaking up on you.
That window sill is Penelope’s “pied a terre”, her veranda / patio / deck, her backyard. She can sunbathe there, watch the hoomins perform strange and horrifying rituals with RUNNING WATER, and No, Penelope, I don’t hear anybody sneaking up on you! sometimes even take a beauty nap.
Ah, breakfast in bed. It’s like she’s Audrey Hepurn, and my kitchen counter top is Tiffany’s.
Really. This is how we live. Two cats sequestered in my work room upstairs, two cats lording over us downstairs, one cat (we call her “Switzerland”) allowed to pass unmolested between the two camps, a cat who lives her life on the kitchen counter top (we should call her “Veal”), and eight cats in the backyard (three Hobos, one Warrior, one Queen Bee, two bachelor uncles, and two part-time mangy Bad Boys who together count as one cat).
At night, when I herd certain other cats who live here down into the basement and bring litter boxes up into the kitchen, that’s when Penelope is free to move about the rest of the house. But still. When you have a cat living on your kithcen counter, that’s when you know you have a problem. The first step is admitting it.
Hi. My name is Vivian and I’m a Cat Lady.