Squirrels and Stripes

Today the cats came home covered in black and white paint.

I froze. “Why are you zebras?” I asked them. “Where are the zebras? Are there zebras in the house?”

“Of course not,” Smudge said, as if the notion were absurd, “This disguise was necessary for playing pranks on the squirrels of the silver birches.”

“I really hope your ‘pranks’ didn’t include stealing their food and eating their babies...” I muttered.

“If they didn’t want it taken, they shouldn’t have buried it underground in a public park,” Smudge said matter-of-factly.

“And how are you planning on getting the paint off?” I asked them, wanting to change the subject, “A little trip in the washing machine, perhaps?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, human,” Sheba told me, “You must have us dry cleaned.”

“So much for a productive afternoon,” I sighed. “I suppose I better get my loyalty card then. We’ve made so many trips this year that I’m pretty sure one of you goes free this time.”