More Cat Blogging

I have my mom’s pair of wing chairs: fine things, with much history. She was proud of them. She was a librarian, a county government employee, who excelled and earned herself substantial recognition in her field — her Library Journal reviews are likely among the first you’ll read at Amazon for many books — and those chairs, reupholstered many times, are a part of the geography of my childhood. So, yes, I inherited them, and with some of the money from the will, I had them reupholstered again. (In their last incarnation, they were baby blue. Sorry, Mom — but really: baby blue?) I’d had no idea that reupholstering was such an expensive thing to do. And of course, the very minute that the chairs are in the apartment again, what does the little fartling Zeugma do? She sharpens her claws on them. I’ve got cardboard scratch-pads set out for the girls throughout the apartment. I’ve got hemp-tied boards nailed up for them. For cryin out loud, I carpentered them a cat tree. But no: we like to sharpen our claws on the furniture. (Not Tink, who knows better: no, it’s just Zeugma, my little queen of destruction, when she wants attention.) I mean, I caught her tonight actually hanging by her front claws, two feet off the floor, from the back of the chair. And giving me a look like, what?

Mmm, new upholstery.