I dragged my carcase out of bed that fine (well, cold and blustery, but I didn't have to go to work so we'll stay with "fine") Friday morning, longing for a cup of coffee and for cats to stay out from under my feet long enough to get one. After I distributed bowls of food indoors and outdoors, trying not to step on Ellen who turns into velcro-kitty when it appears anyone is close enough to the refrigerator to open the magic cold box and take out deli turkey, I realized Flora was deeply absorbed in chowing down. I slipped downstairs and brought a cat carrier up to the kitchen, out of sight. Then s l o w l y but nonchalantly approached her, picked her up as if for a nice little cuddle and headed for the box.
Of course, she knew sometheing was amiss so she started to scrabble but I popped her in the box and locked the lid.
It was then I became aware of something that sounded like the rumble of a distant volcano due to erupt.
The carrier quivered.
I realized it was Flora, growling.
This did not bode well.