The cat hasn’t been well. When getting around at anything higher than a cautious paw-by-paw pace, she’s been holding her back left leg up and limping along. She’s been eating her food throughout, which suggests her tough little spirit hasn’t been too dented; instead, she’s just got a bit more clingy and attached to us her owners: those big, wonky pseudo-cats that can’t even walk on three legs properly, let alone four, so what do they know?
The most noticeable change in her temperament – especially now she’s getting better, but more about that in another post – was that she had much less interest in “shakeymouse”. Now, this needs explaining. Anyone who follows the ventriloquized Twitter sensation of “Sockington” will be aware of Socks’ obsession with a series of easily destroyed chew toys, which the cat is only aware of as a single toy that occasionally disappears. On Twitter, Socks calls this toy “Baron von Shakeymouse”.
With this in mind, we adopted the word “shakeymouse”, initially for her first chew toy, but it gradually became the word for every chew toy, even for the abstract activity of her chasing toys around the house: “oh, she wants to do shakeymouse!” Then, by some weird lolcat deconstruction of the original grammar, it now means almost everything relating to that crepuscular hour when the cat suddenly goes wide-eyed and thinks she’s an actual tiger: “uh-oh, she’s gone all shakeymouse!” “shakeymouse incident occurring under the bed as I speak; watch your feet!” “[impression of the cat pouncing on something] ‘ShakeyMOUSE!'”
We know she’s starting to get better now, as she’s “all into shakeymouse.” By which I mean: I sat down with my feet either side of a box; first she started to square up against one of my white socks, bobbing her head as if to gauge the exact distance for a pounce; when I moved it out of her sight, her gaze darted across the box to spy my other foot, and she leapt on it with her claws half-extended. When she’s back to her full strength, I pity the shakeymouse.