Guess what? We have a pair of kittens now. Smokey Joe and Summer. A delightful duo of demonic devilment, they sing their sumptuous songs of feline friendliness to lull the unsuspecting housedad into a false sense of security. And then, in the middle of the night, as the moon shines its silver smile over a scene of silent serenity, they go BAT **** CRAZY!
Using my head as a springboard they leap about the room, pouncing here and bouncing there. An erratic brace of lightning fur, with needle claws and reflective eyes, they move as though fired from a canon. The mayhem of the moment is the manor of their method, and these marauding moggies magnify their mental mania in the madness of the midnight murk.
And then, once a reasonable hour is reached and everyone is up and about, they sneak off to hide in the clothes drawers to sleep it off.