katrina

the cat has been staring pointedly at her bowl for the past several minutes, and it has quite rudely refused to fill. she turns and examines the mirror for a few moments... then turns back to the bowl... still nothing. she looks at it askance and trys a hiss, skitters sideways just in case the bowl should dislike being hissed at. nothing. she peers at it agian... the bowl is still stubbornly empty. she, being rumbly around the middle bits and very much awake, though it's two am, comes to the decision to take this matter to the source. she hops down off of the bathroom counter, pauses at the door to crouch and pounce at invisible birds (she has never liked mice very much), and stalks elegantly around the bookshelf.
she pauses at the door of the eldest's room. this being her first choice on the cat-crusade, as the eldest usually gives her nibbly-bits. things loom at her eye level. things that might like a cat for a snack... she arches her back and growls at the shapeless forms... they do not move, still watching her, she thinks. she turns her back on them and trots stiff-legged across the hall, arrogance and nonchalance in every hair. ready to run if the floor monsters try to attack. the other is still asleep, even at this late hour (disgraceful, thinks the cat), but the cat has her ways...
the other stirs in her sleep when the cat nestles herself in a small compact cat-ball on the other's chest. the other has her head turned away from the cat, and the cat, undaunted in the slightest, creeps forward with her claws in the bedspread until she can put her cold nose in the other's ear. the other sighs in her sleep, but otherwise does nothing more then twitch. so the cat begins to purr. the other sits bold upright in bed, eyes wide open. the cat, wise in such things, springs clear before the other can flop the bedclothes down on her by accident. the other regards the cat, still muddled by sleep. had it been any other of the pinkies (as all cats call humans), the cat might have been put off by the other's apprence, what with the other's hair sticking out at all angles and lurid purple pajamas with pretzels on them gracing its form. the cat dances in the other's field of vision, and the other, thinking that that it might need to get up for some reason, not knowing that the cat wants something of it yet, walks (or trips rather, for it cannot see in the dark as can the cat) to the bathroom. there it sees the object fo the cat's desire, the empty bowl. the other reaches out a heavy hand and rubs the cat's ears. the other says something to the cat, but the cat, not deigning to interpret pinkie-talk, only hears the rustle of the food-bag as the other fills her bowl. the other goes back to it's bed, it's purpose fufilled, but the cat, engrossed in her beloved bowl, does not even notice.