Right before I took this picture, Hemingway stared intently at the bricks of the fireplace hearth and wiggled his furry butt while his tail whipped back and forth. After a minute or two, in the predictable jungle cat maneuver, he pounced forward and commenced bopping that particular brick several times with his paw. He stopped bopping, peered closely at the brick, then bopped it all over again.
Now on high alert, I snatched up the ever-handy can of RAID, ready to drown whatever manner of creature might escape from Hemi’s paw. But I don’t see a damn thing on that brick. No bug, no string, nothing that could remotely get the attention of a cat, much less pass for live prey.
Hemingway stared at the floor, as if surveying his kill, then turned away. When he realized I was watching him, he gave me this, “yeah, I just saved the universe again – your welcome” look and sauntered off to the food dish.
Hemi may just be playing with my head. But I am not taking any chances. I’m spending the rest of the evening with a glass of Sauv Blanc in one hand and the RAID in the other.
[Sidebar: if I were the least bit tech savvy, and I believe I have repeatedly established that I am not, I would have captured the whole thing on my cell phone as a video. To wit: I have no cell phone videos.]