Warrior Cat

For some reason I began calling her Wheezer which morphed into The Wheeze, as in: "Where's The Wheeze?"

We always had an alarm system in the homes that we owned while The Wheeze was alive - this was because our shit was so compelling, so amazing, that thieves were lined up on both sides of the street waiting for the opportunity to break in and take it all away.  These were good, professional thieves, too - they wore black turtlenecks and black sock caps.  That's how you could tell they were good.  I'd drive by them and think: "Man, am I glad I have an alarm system so the thieves can't get in and steal my shit."

These alarm systems had motion detectors that detected motion.  When we would leave the house we'd have to lock The Wheeze in the basement, lest she set off the alarm.  It's not as bad as it sounds - we had perfectly comfortable, cat-friendly basements full of old furniture and dark hiding spaces that she could skulk around in.  The problem, of course, was that she didn't always want to go into the basement, preferring the more comfortable new furniture we had throughout the house.  We solved this problem by purchasing little tins of cat treats and we'd signal that it was time for a treat by rattling the can.  I'm not sure what the manufacturers put in those treats but they had the same effect on The Wheeze that heroin has on an addict.

I got good at flinging the little bouncing treats way down into the basement so that she'd go scuttling after them right fast.  That is on the times that she deigned to actually come when the can was rattled.  Often we were forced to hunt her down in whatever room she was currently sleeping in.  When she was discovered she'd sit there with a blank expression on her face: "I heard you fine - just didn't feel like coming."

I'd stand over her yelling: "Let's go let's go let's go!" like a drill sergeant.  She went, in a hurry, but exuding a sullen satisfaction, glad to be one up on The Human.  "You got me but I made you work for it."

Some of her favorite games:
Sitting at the bottom of our steps, watching me peek around the edge of the door on the second floor, before blasting upward to try to catch me unawares.  She came up those stairs like a freight train.

Stretching out along a wall and slowly scrabbling down the hallway as I patted her haunches, making grumbling sounds during the entire transit.  When we reached the end of the hall she'd change direction and we'd repeat the operation until we reached the original starting point at which point she'd shriek and lunge for my hand, clearly interested in drawing blood.

Tangling herself up in the legs of a sitting chair, screaming bloody murder, as I tried to weave my hands around the legs to grab her feet.  I got bit a few times playing this game, usually when she got teeth on flesh as I was pulling quickly away in a futile escape attempt.  I was careful but she was quick.  More blood.

All fighting games.  All warrior games.  All games which stated blatantly: "I'm not afraid of shit."