The cat's name is Sam. He's part of a set; Sally and Sammy, sister and brother from the same litter, Miss Chatterbox and Doofus.
They are eight years old. We call her Miss Chatterbox because she back-talks to us all the time. If the litter box is not clean enough for her, she complains. If food is not forthcoming, she complains. If she hasn't been scratched long enough, she complains. She will sit before us and meow in aggrieved tones.
And she is smart. We had to put lockable latches on the cabinet where the cat food is stored because she figured out how to open it.
Her brother, however, is dumb as a rock and that is why he attacked the television.
We bought the new set at Christmas; a 42-inch, 1080i high-definition flat screen. I was happy with the 24-inch set we had, but Rachael wanted the bigger, sharper model for gaming.
"Wait until you see how clear the picture is," she said. "It's like you're looking through an open window."
I was writing this morning and had the television tuned to Sunrise Earth. They were showing scenes from a South American rain forest. The twitter of birds began and Sam went crazy.
In an instant, he was up on the table's edge before the set, yowling and doing his best to reach through the screen with one paw and bat the birdie he was certain was only inches away.
I yelled; he didn't stop.
And then the image blinked to an extreme close-up of a soldier ant. The ant appeared to be larger than Sam and was head right at him. Sam stopped swatting, arched away from the screen and toppled from his perch. He hid on the stairs, peeking over the top lip and hissing, until I turned to another channel.
I guess Rachael is right.
