I find increasing difficulty in believing my 40 pounds of housecat descended from fierce predator forecats (forecats = forefathers). For one thing, my cats have enormous bellies. Carmel, especially. His belly behaves like a Newton’s cradle. If he trots—which he will do at first sight of canned food—his belly sways wildly back and forth and tends to maintain the motion even once he stops. He is only a few plates of Fancy Feast from having his belly dragging on the floor.
Also, my cats are clueless. Just yesterday, Carmel tried to jump up onto my work desk and missed in spectacular fashion. He ended up on his butt with my papers raining down all around him. And there was that time Splash tried run through my screen door.
The look he gave me when he picked himself up again! Like it was my fault.
My cats are averse to chilly weather, wind, rain, errant noise (my door bell sends them off like fat rockets), and snow. Again, just yesterday, I opened my door to let Splash out, only to have him plow back at me when the wind lifted a tuft of his matted fur.
My 40 pounds of housecat spend most of their day flopped down on carpeted patches of sunlight or curled into pillows and blankets, marking time between meals. I will admit, Carmel will sometimes terrorize a paper napkin when one hits the floor. And Splash will chase a fly to the windows. In most cases, however, the chase ceases when Splash bonks his head on the window.
Again, that look he gives me.