A Fugitive in the Family

The trouble with Twinkie is that she has a streak of wildness within her that will never disappear. It seems as though the memories of her first traumatic months of life, when she was living in drains, have never left her completely, and the wild blood of the alleycat tends to take hold over her every now and again.


Twinkie: wild.

Of course I've tried to guide her down the path to civility, but you can't fight against the power of breeding - and Twinkie's breeding is from the streets. I have a sneaky suspicion that her father was my old friend, an Orange Tomcat who wandered around town like he owned the place - until a car stopped him in his stride. I miss the old fellow, but I see a lot of him in Twinkie's wild little ways.

Anyway to run and hide for absolutely no reason is part of Twinkie's instincts. And yesterday's escapades were just like all the others. You see the problem with her instinctive urges is that they stop right after she's run away from home and found a suitable bush to hide behind. Without any instincts left to drive her, Twinkie suddenly gets fed up with the taste of freedom and then decides she wants to come back home. But her sense of direction is as bad as her taste in male cats, so she sits still - behind her suitable bush - and waits for someone to come along and rescue her.


Freedom! Erm... now what?

Enter: my humans...

Now don't get me wrong, I myself enjoy running away from time to time and giving those two-leggers some good healthy exercise. But they don't seem to see it that way, and during such occassions, use an interesting language to communicate with each other. This particular language is apparently reserved only for situations when one of us is hiding, has pulled down the clothes rack, or has used the furniture as a scratching post. It has to be shouted rather than spoken, and also involves some rumbling noises that sound rather like low growls. An interesting language this, and I still haven't quite worked it out yet.

Now as I was saying, when Twinkie gets herself lost, she also suffers from short-term memory loss, so forgets who my humans are. So she ends up running around like a mad fool until she runs out of breath and then has to be physically carried back into the house. It must be quite traumatic for the poor thing, but she never seems to learn her lesson, and repeats the entire process on almost a weekly basis. Must be something to do with the short-term memory loss again...

Anyway she's sitting here in front of me right now - doing her best to look angelic and innocent.

I can hear one of my humans still growling in the background...


Little Miss Angelic, relaxing after
her escape - that idiot male Monkey
being very smug in the background