We have cats. LOTS AND LOTS of cats. I don't really like cats.
We have a really old cat and two very young cats that are siblings. Our really old cat has been THE cat for the past 15 years and has absolutely no interest in sharing us. Despite the fact that she is blind and incontinent and a cat and rarely comes downstairs. Because she is elderly. And hates stairs.
Today, E.D. (Evil Devil or the ancient one), graced us with her presence in the downstairs world. The young cats, Tiggy (yes, her name has been changed. Pamela REALLY didn't like having to tell her friends that both cats were named after an alcoholic beverage. Pamela doesn't belong here) and Shiraz were inside because they did one of the things where they hang around outside and rush the door when the short residents of our house open the door.
E.D. spotted Shiraz and went ballistic. There was all kinds of hissing and spitting and fighting. E.D. doesn't have front claws, but she can hit like a mofo. I know this because she hits me in the shoulder when she doesn't have food in her bowl (is anyone else imaging a six foot cat here?). And she weighs all of 6 pounds and it actually stings a bit when she hits.
Tiggy, who was resting in a living room chair, sat up, hearing that her brother was in trouble.
Did she do anything?
No. She sat on the chair and made sure SHE was out of the sight of the crazy old blind cat. She was all, "Dude, Bro. Sucks for you. I'm just gonna sit here. Come get me when it's done. Mofo."
It was at that moment that I realized she belongs in this family.