Maura and Beryl are frenemies. Each wants to be top cat and they try to dominate one another in various ways, usually involving food or my attention. Beryl blocks Maura from his food bowl; Maura skippity-paps her as she passes by him. Fur rarely flies, but they behave in the most petty ways.

This morning took the cake. I am working in the studio because we have a houseguest sleeping in the loft. So I bought my work out here and the cats followed.

Maura normally jumps up on my desk to assist with keyboard duties before stepping down to settle on my lap. But he only snuggles in if I spread a blanket across my legs. He followed his usual routine this morning in the shed, but I didn’t have the lap blanket and he soon left and sat in his favorite box instead.

Beryl took this in from the high cat perch. She was dismissive; her face and body language gave her away. This was dumb Maura doing his dumb things. But shortly after Maura got into the box, she jumped down onto my table and mimicked Maura’s entire routine. Stepped across the keyboard, sniffed the coffee, sat on my notebook, and then curled up on my lap.

Maura looked at me as if I had betrayed him. Hey, bud, it’s not me. I’m just a lap.