...which I am skipping for the first time ever because I can't actually breathe very well, and since a) breathing is the frelling point in yoga and b)my sinuses drain whenever I invert, well, I think down dog might be drippy dog and wheezing dog and c) this is the most strenuous of the weekly yoga classes. So no. I feel guilty for skipping, but I could be bleeding from the eyes and I would feel guilty. It is the legacy of 18 years of Catholicism and no compassion for myself, ever, about anything. I bet I finish this post and do some short routine here at home, one full of standing poses.
So yes. The point. Another cat story!
So the old blind cat has proven he is not half as demented as he pretends. He and Bone Sack (the other old cat. No, that is not her name) have been stealing the little cat's food. They do it this way: Pooka eats all of his like the feline Hoover that he is. He then lists to the right, mrrphing and muttering, until he bumps Bone Sack, aka Pix. They have lived together for going on 12 years, but there is no love. And she is omega-cat. So when he gets too close, she hisses (which he cannot hear) and bolts. And he eats her food. Meanwhile, Louhi has eaten the first round of her meal and wandered off to do whatever before she comes back for the second round. So Pix stops at Louhi's dish on the way out of the kitchen and finishes whatever she finds. And then Louhi comes back, finds her dish empty, and comes to find a biped to rectify this terrible oversight. Since she eats about half of whatever you give her (two pieces or 200, this is the case) at a time, this means we are forever adding drips and drabs of kibble her dish while the other two cycle past at intervals so that she can nibble at leisure while they eat too much. This is leading to one very fat Pooka.
Anyway, we decided to put Louhi's dish on the counter--not so that she will eat up there, but to keep it out of old cat range. Pix can't jump anymore, and Pooka, well... well. About him. Nothing wrong with his sense of smell. He discovered the dish on the counter--with like 20 pieces of food in it--and decided that the best way to get up there--since he tried, and failed, to make the jump--was to pull the oven door open and climb up that way. Thump thump thump we hear, and then BANG. Pooka's got his paws on the door handle, pulling and pulling. He doesn't have the weight and leverage to get it open, but he tried. When that way proved fruitless, he moved to the cabinet below the counter. Much easier to open. And there are shelves! On the inside! He can't actually get to the counter from climbing onto the shelves, but he's damn sure tried. Nous has informed me, with a mixture of admiration and exasperation, that Pooka has indeed tried all day long, because he is stubborn.
Not bad for a blind, mostly deaf cat. Little shithead.