Run, Lola, Run

At the twilight hour, Lola settles down for a well-earned nap in her new home. The radiator is on. She is near it. All is well. But somewhere in this teeming metropolis…
…something is amiss. Lola’s whiskers tingle and she turns to face her enemy, but there is no one, only the winter wind.
But Lola’s whiskers are never wrong!
Deep in the heart of a seemingly innocuous desk, danger unfurls its claws.
(This is Tiglath. He is a wise old cat, and acquired his white whiskers by staying out of the wars of ferocious Lola-Bathsheba-type women. But his ears twitch nervously as he wonders: how will it all end? Who will steal the coveted red woolly feathery toy? Will Lola have to yield her blanket? We do not know, though all trapped in the house with the two spitters hope that some day, there will be peace.)


But wait, there is hope. Despite skirmishes across the Line of Control, a regrettable case of catnip theft, and a few hissy fits, by evening, peace reined in Gotham City. The two combatants were prepared, if not to let sleeping dogs lie, at least to sleep in the same room without dismembering one another.
That is Lola, in one of our jackets.

And that is Bathsheba, in another one of our jackets.
There is silence, instead of the sounding of barbaric yawps.
Our ankles are unclawed (so far).
No blood has been spilled, even if a little fur has flown.
We are shivering, but what more could we want?
(It’s not as if they’re going to give the coats back anyway.)

(Previously: Lola Kitty comes home.)







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