Sometimes...

Sometimes, I wish I hadn't suggested we get two kittens when we adopted those two fuzzy idiots.  Because Cricket?  Yeah...she's not small.  She's about eight months old, now, and about twelve pounds.  She's now taller at the shoulder than our much-missed, sane fuzzball Binx was.  And she's so clumsy you'd swear she wasn't a cat.

On top of that, she's a wimp.  She routinely gets the crap beat out of her by her smaller milk-sister, Shadow.  Shadow's about a pound lighter, a half inch shorter at the shoulders (and two inches shorter in the tail), and ten times meaner. 

A few minutes ago, Cricket came tearing out of the back room, followed closely by Shadow.  She tore through the living room, ran up over the box blocking the kids away from the stuff beside my chair, over the end table beside my chair, across the table the TV is setting on (ran behind the small, flat-screen television, nearly upsetting the TV), and skidded to a stop on the bookcase we keep our movies in. 

And, in the process, she upended my coffee cup on the floor.  I'm glad it's a travel mug, or it would have spilled the whole cup, rather than just a few, good swallows. 

And Shadow?  Shadow stayed on the box behind my chair, watching Cricket try to do what she's too big and clumsy to successfully do anymore.