It seems that our smallest cat, Charlie, the black-and-white maniac who makes noises like a velociraptor, is trying to injure me. The only reason I say this is that he keeps pushing stuff onto my head while I’m sleeping.

Just the other day he leaped from the bedroom cat tower onto a wall shelf, and then onto our headboard, which contains numerous open cubbyholes, and pushed over a 12-inch-tall glass bottle (empty). Fortunately I was only half-asleep because of all the racket he had been making as he raced around the house like a crack-addled critter. So when I heard, and actually sensed to some degree, that a heavy bottle was headed to my head, I covered my melon.

Actually, his aim was off, so the bottle only plopped near my skull, thereby avoiding a clunked cabeza. However, several other times he has pushed a shallow basket off the headboard top shelf. Charlie’s bombardments have only grazed my head, and I’m learning to sleep lightly. Also, the basket is slowly disappearing because before he bulldozes it to targets below he treats it as prey that needs biting and ripping.

And speaking of prey, Jan made him a toy. It’s a small Ziploc bag with a wad of paper inside. Charlie loves it. He likes to attack it and throw it about. He also enjoys carrying it around as it dangles from his sharp little cat teeth. Ah, the thrill of the kill.

Charlie seems to be offended by anything upright. Either that or the photos of our family, including my grandmothers and aunts, have learned to fly.

Then there’s midnight black Flint “Flinty” Eastwood. We had an under-bed drawer open one morning, and then didn’t see Flinty the rest of the day. We figured he was in one of his hiding places, like in the garage or behind a curtain. We went to bed and heard mewing noises, which we were sure came from one of the several outside cats that have adopted us because of the food placed on the back deck.

Went to sleep and awoke early the next morning, as the mewing sounds resumed. Turned out that the mighty black had gotten into the drawer while it was open, and then gotten right comfortable inside the bed platform. When we rescued him, he made a beeline for the litter box. Whew!

Flint is an interesting guy; he believes in a share-and-share-alike philosophy. Especially when we have food on our plates. He has no problem coming directly to our meals and insisting that he be given some of whatever we’re eating. He’ll even take salad. If we don’t share quickly enough, he uses his lighting-quick claws to snag a morsel. Or he’ll simply stick his face onto the plate for a quick bite. Spoiled kid.

Bubba Big Foot, all 16.5 pounds of him, is still the king cat around the house, although sometimes he and his mom, Maui, get into some battle royals. And sometimes Flint and Charlie get into play fights, even though the latter is about half the size of Flint. This results in little tufts of cat hair scattered about the room.

Cats are intriguing creatures. I just wish one wasn’t stalking me. Oh well, what can you expect from fur snakes?