“I’m not doing anything”

                It is just like babysitting preschoolers…watching cats, that is.  Today I watched Frank pounce on Jersey, then stand over her with a dark-eyed stare.  He was fully activated and ready to rumble.

                “FRANK!”

I'm not up to anything!

                Hearing my disciplinary tone, his glare instantly changed to feigned innocence.  He pretended to ignore Jersey and instead looked around like a daydreamer gawking at clouds.  I turned away but watched out of the corner of my eye.  Frank’s eyes darkened once again as he hunched down to strike.

                “FRANK!”

                Instantly his virtuous face turns on, looking over both shoulders to find out who I could possibly be yelling at.  Then Frank casually walked about—I swear if he had human lips and pants he would have whistled nonchalantly with his hands in his pockets.

                I turned away again and he prepared a third time to attack, at which point I scooped him up and put him in time out in the other room.

                I’ve done the mom thing enough years not to fall for the “I’m not doing anything” act.