Understanding cats

What a feline weekend I had. There's nothing much to report, except that Rambo shows promise of becoming a menace and is terribly, terribly sweet.
There's progress, too, in inter-cat relations with the Critters.
Not only because I'm a crazy cat lady, but also because I think it's interesting, here's why three adult cats run away in horror from a tiny baby -- Rambo is going to keep his name, though, because it's simply too funny. And he already knows he's Rambo.
OK, imagine you're sitting at the window in the early morning (let's assume you're a morning person living in a house or ground floor flat), drinking your coffee and meditatively glancing out at the still-quiet street. Suddenly, you do a double-take. Out on the pavement, there's a baby, maybe eight or nine months old. It's dressed in diapers, a pinstriped jacket and Ray Bans. And it's... walking. It's sauntering along, looking here and there and making baby noises.
You pinch your arm, hard, to make sure you're awake.
You *are* awake, but the baby is still there.
This can't be, you think, it's a baby, for heaven's sake, and neither supposed to walk nor to walk on its own dressed like this!!! Even though it's like something out of a nightmare, you're of course curious, and so you summon all your courage and go out of the house, slowly and carefully in order not to frighten the poor little thing (but also because you're feeling quite horrified yourself). You approach the baby. Carefully, you say, "Hello?"
The baby stops, turns around and points a gun at you.

This is, more or less, what a grown, unused-to-kittens cat feels when it sees a six-weeks old kitten on its own, without its mum. It's an abomination, and so the grown cat, no matter how big and strong, turns tail and runs.

It does stand to reason, however, that if you see the same baby every day, you'll get used to the sight. Then it doesn't even point its gun at you anymore (although you can still see it in its holster), and you don't feel you have to flee screaming anymore. Which is exactly what's going to happen with Rambo and the Critters; I just need to be very, very patient and invest a lot of time. With time, the baby will grow and leave its gun at home.

BTW "abomination" would make a lovely collective noun for dirty laundry, wouldn't it? "Can't go out tonight, sorry, I've got an abomination of laundry to wash."

Something canine (i.e. bitching) to compensate for the preponderance of feline topics

1) I ordered the "Vanity Fair" movie, merely to drool over Gabriel Byrne (knowing full well that his part is a small one) and in spite of the bad reviews it had received when it came out. Holy crap, what a complete waste of space, time and money. I understand that it's difficult to compress 500+ pages of book into 130 minutes of screen time, but even though the screen writers -- Julian Fellowes among them, of whom I'd have expected more -- must necessarily cut out scenes, plot lines etc., it is certainly possible at least to capture the spirit and atmosphere of a book. But I *did* drool over Gabriel Byrne. God, that man is Supergalactic President Hot of Sizzlingville.
2) New colleague -- Irene's replacement -- arrived today. He's ok I suppose, and besides I don't really care, because I'll be gone in a month. Skopje is his last posting before retirement, and he's been working for 40 years for the MoFA, which usually means either complete lack of motivation or insufferable know-it-all. New colleague is the latter. You know, the type who has been here for ten minutes and already suggests improvements. Also, call me old-fashioned, but in my book I'm the one (being both a woman and his superior) who suggests using first names.
3) If there's one thing I hate, it's people stepping on my side of the desk and looking over my shoulder at *my* computer screen. Ditto, new colleague. (Without asking, just in case you were wondering)
4) When new colleague arrived at work, I was outside in my little front garden, feeding the cats. I was finished two minutes later, but Gerald had already taken it upon himself to show new colleague his office etc., before he (n.c.) had even said hello to me. So I went up to the first floor, gave Gerald my frostiest smile (no extra effort involved) and said, "Thank you, Gerald," in the tones of "Thank you James, you may retire" and gesturing towards the door. I'm not usually proud of being a bitch, but this was quite masterfully done, if I say so myself. *cackles evilly*