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Friday October 15, 2004 // By Sarah

The Zone of War

In most of the house, there is only the peaceful sound of cats purring. The cats sleep, then move around a little and sleep some more. Sometimes they lick me or each other. Sometimes there is some jumping and the occasional rubberband chase. Sometimes one or the other lets out a meow or yelp—Lucy sees a pigeon, Clem complains that papa has picked her up so mama can kiss her belly AGAIN, someone took the rubberband.

But there is a zone of war in our home, and it’s not where you might think. It’s not their shared food bowl. Not the litterbox. Not a favorite sleeping spot.

It’s the bathroom doorway.

If you hear shrieking, it’s coming from the bathroom doorway. The panicked skittering of a fleeing feline? Bathroom doorway. If you are in the mood to see WWE-style cat-on-cat take-downs, I direct you to our bathroom doorway.

I am intrigued. Why the bathroom? Why the doorway?

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