I first spot them conniving (?) discussing something in hushed meow whispers on the landing outside our bedroom. There-huddled-they seem from a distance to be engaged in deep plotting. Theo is surrounded by Mico and Sienna. As I move closer, they disburse, immediately involved in other pursuits. Sienna stretches on one of the smaller cat trees in the hall. Mico wanders, devil may care, into the guest room. Theo is the only one who stands his ground.
At that moment I don't know that Theo even knows how to read a calendar or even what a calendar was. He's a gangster cat of few words and the word calendar in English or Italian (yes, we speak a lot of Italian in our house) never springs from his lips.
So, how does he know that a certain birthday is on the horizon? Is he pretending to be asleep but really eavesdropping on conversations?
Birthdays are pretty special at our house. We plan an event. We go out to dinner. Sometimes we stretch the day to a weekend and call it a Birthday Weekend Celebration.
But, even so, I'm not particularly suspicious. Usually when the three of them gather on the landing, it's because they're hoping to crack us. Theo meows, a soft pitiful cry, that will convince anyone to do anything. SNACKS. That's what the cry is all about. Yeah, he may be a ruthless gangster cat who struts around on little cat feet with a swagger, but he can't live without his snacks. And the landing is directly outside the guest room, which the three of them have taken over and made the cat room. They know where the snacks are. They know three small glass bowls wait empty near the cat tree.
"It's only ten o'clock," I announce, "in the morning. You just had breakfast. You know the rule."
But, honestly, there is no rule. The giving of snacks in our house is arbitrary. Dan is an easy target. He will cave to Theo's first meow. I'm tougher. Well, a little tougher. So, I'm fooled initially.
Here is the video of that encounter. You tell me if they don't look oh so innocent.
Only later do I notice something odd happening. On any given day the house is scattered with toys. Cat toys. Mice and anything else that even resembles cat prey are in every room, on every floor, in every doorway. They litter the stairs. They are on the master bed. They are even on bathroom counters.
Slowly, but surely, they start to disappear. Sure, I pick them up and return them to the cat basket. This disappearance of cat toys is different. It's done stealthily. If you blink, a toy will disappear.
You might think I'm exaggerating, but I'm a verified eye witness to the cat toy disappearance. Notice Sienna, the spy like way she's hiding herself under the drape, the tell-tale paw and the toy object before it disappears.
What's going on?
Days slip by and more and more cat toys disappear. I'll catch Mico posed next to one of his favorite toys, and then nothing. Mico poses alone.
I ask Dan, "What do you think is going on?"
He looks at me as if I'm the crazy one. "Going on?"
"Where are all the cat toys?"
But he's busy reading his article for Italian class or practicing Bach on the piano. "Do we even have cat toys?" he finally asks.
I resort to desperate measures. Interrogation of the third degree. I use the flashlight on my iPhone and shine it directly into the eyes of the gang of three. "Where are the toys?"
The three fur babies stand firm.
Finally, in a gush of desperation, I peer under the guest bed with my flashlight. There carefully piled into an old basket, like some offering to the gods, are all the toys that no longer litter our house.
"Hey, what's this?" I ask Theo. Then Sienna. Then Mico.
My three rapscallions circle around, but no one says a meow. I'm on my stomach with the light from my cell phone. Gosh, now I see it. A bow drapes triumphantly across the basket of toys reading Celebration.
A birthday surprise gift of all the fake mice they carry around and pretend to annihilate? Or are they just cleaning up the house to make mom happy?
I'll never know.
