Never, ever doubt the power of a Dead Thing in the world of cats.

I was pretty much starting to wonder what I'd gotten myself into here, trying to integrate two adult cats into a household already equipped with an adult cat.

Oh, sure, I'd followed every instruction I could find on the web, but it looked like the very territorial female Norma was never, ever going to make peace with my eight-year-old cat, Zubby.

Which brings us to the awesome powers of The Dead Thing.

For the last two nights Zubby has been following his usual practice of showing up at our back deck with a dead or semi-dead thing in his mouth. As is our wont, we coax him to drop his dead thing, scritch him on the head, tell him he is the Big Cahoona of Hunters and, drunk with praise, he disappears off again into the night.

The second they hear a door opening now Enid and Norma rush over to it because this represents The Possibility of Freedom. Now that they've both experienced The Great Outdoors, being penned up in our house is considered a fate worse than death.

And so, for the last two nights, Norma and Enid have witnessed Zubby's appearance with Dead Things. Enid goes mental when she sees them. Last night she managed to muscle past the spousal unit and actually snatch Zubby's dead thing from him and run into the house with it.

The words "run into the house with it" really don't give you a sense of what happened here. I estimate that her paws actually touched the floor about four times as she rocketed up and down the full length of our upstairs as fast as she could, yelling her head off.

Picture a skinny calico cat with her eyes as big as saucers, a limp brown mouse dangling from her mouth, running huge loops over and under furniture, yelling, "OHMIGAWD, OHMIGAWD, OHMIGAWD" over and over again and you pretty much have the situation. We were laughing so hard we didn't even bother trying to catch her for a few minutes.

Norma, being Norma, feigned indifference. She sent out this, "Hey, ya seen one Dead Thing ya've seen 'em all" vibe. But from the way her tail was twitching, the way her ear moved so she could listen to where Enid was running, it was obvious that the Dead Thing set off her bells and whistles as much as it set off Enid's.

This morning all three cats had breakfast together. When they were done eating Norma went over to Zubby and casually gave him a quick groom by one of his ears. Shared grooming is a cat sign of affection. I almost fainted.

When I opened the door to let the gang out, Norma went out with Zubby. She followed him around but not in her usual Not Only Will I Kick Your Current Butt, But I Will Kick The Butt Of All Your Past And Future Lives mode.

No, today they were clearly hanging out together. My guess here? Norma wants to know where one gets Dead Things. She knows Zubby knows this. She has decided that this Dead Thing knowledge makes Zubby a good cat to know.

For the last few days Norma has been stealing the spousal unit's work gloves from the porch downstairs and hiding them in a corner of our living room. Why, we have no idea. The one time I caught her at it, passing her on the stairs with a glove in her mouth, she gave me a very, "Lah lah lah lah lah ignore the cat with the glove in her mouth" look.

Hrm.

As the spousal unit and I watched Norma and Zub lope off towards the woods this morning there was a pause. Then he joked that he fully expects that with Norma's smarts it's just a matter of time until they start breaking and entering homes and cottages down the road, hauling home their gloves, too.

We laughed, but it was the uneasy laugh of two people who wonder what they've gotten themselves into.

Forget the Satan's Little Sister moniker. Could Norma be conscripting Zubby into a Life o' Crime? Have we adopted the female Lex Luthor of cats?

Is Norma a criminal mastermind or just a cat with a glove fetish? Is it possible for me to ask more continuous questions?

Only time will tell.

--Marn

P.S.--Three new inductees into the Bazonga Boosters Hall o' Fame, folks who have decided to spend some of their hard-earned buckazoids supporting the Jog for the Jugs Oct. 5 in Montreal! Yep,

Mileage on the Marnometer: 393.23 miles (632.8 kilometers)

Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers