Harley discovered herself this morning. And I don't mean discovered in a teen-angst, coming-of-age sort of way, I mean she looked in the mirror. She's a fan of the bathroom counter, particularly the sink. She'll dive headfirst into the sink, bat at the faucet, knock things over with her tail - my toothbrush, the hairspray, lotion. She'll do all of these things, every morning, without ever once looking in the mirror that is directly in front of her face.
But this morning, that ended. As I stepped out of the shower, she was standing, frozen, in an awkward half-standing-up, half-sitting-down pose, tail puffed and eyes narrowed. When I called to her, she jumped.
She was freaking out.
I thought perhaps she'd realize, I don't know, that she was looking at herself, but that didn't happen. She stalked the mirror. She'd nose herself forward, but every time she realized it was moving, too, she'd jump back.
This was absolutely blowing her mind, this cat. Who was this cat? And why was it on the sink, just like her, so help her, God?
These cats of mine have minds of their own, so when they find themselves in precarious situations such as this, I just stand back and watch. And laugh. And go get Chicken so she can watch, too.
Harley eventually left the counter top, and her alter ego, to move on to other things, like pooping on the wall and scaling bookshelves, and I left for work.
I fully expect to return home tonight to find Harley bearing a wooden stake and garlic strand, though.