Bad Cats

Sometimes I don't like my cats very much.

It can be hard to wrap my head around their duality. Right now Sachi is laying over my forearms as I type, purring, snuggling, doing the happy cat march on my boobs. Occasionally she will reach up with a loving paw and pat my face. (Of course, right now she's started licking her butt -- how utterly charming.)

Then I walk into a room and find something like this.

Sachi, Kitsu, both of them are bloody little predators. They kill with joy. Even though their tummies are full of the expensive canned cat food, even though they have crunchies in their dish 7/24, they delight in slaughter.

I never used to understand when my Mom told me when I was a kid, "I love you, but sometimes I don't like you at all."

Now I do.