Coal is my black Himalayan kitten – and I’m pretty sure he wakes up every day thinking, What’s the fastest way to cause a problem?
We have basic house rules. Normal ones.
- Don’t climb the curtains.
- Don’t mess with the aquarium.
- Don’t go near the toaster.
Coal hears these rules and takes them as a personal challenge.
Last Tuesday, I came home with groceries and started unloading them onto the kitchen counter. Coal appeared immediately, like he’d been waiting by the door the whole time. He watched every item like a tiny security guard. Apples. Bread. Cereal.
Then I put down a rotisserie chicken in one of those clear plastic containers.
Coal locked in on it so hard his whole face changed.
I said, “Don’t even think about it.”
That was my mistake, because I had to put the milk in the fridge. I turned my back for maybe ten seconds. When I looked again, Coal had climbed onto the chair, then onto the counter, and was walking toward the chicken like he owned the place.
He sniffed the container, then put one paw on the lid and pushed.
It squeaked and slid a little.
Coal froze. I swear he listened like he was checking if I was still watching. I was—he just didn’t care.
He pushed again, harder.
The whole container went off the edge of the counter and hit the floor with a loud thump. The lid popped off, and the chicken rolled out onto the tile like it was trying to escape.
Coal stared at it for a second, like even he couldn’t believe it happened.
Then he grabbed the chicken by a wing and started dragging it across the kitchen floor.
The chicken was bigger than he was. He still committed fully.
I walked in and just stopped. I didn’t even know what to say at first. Coal was crouched over it like this was a totally normal thing for a kitten to do.
I finally said, “Coal.”
Coal looked up at me with huge innocent eyes, still holding the wing in his mouth. Like he was about to tell me he found it that way.
I walked over, and instead of running—because that would make too much sense—he flopped onto his back like, I’m just a baby. I don’t know anything. Full belly up. Paws in the air. Zero shame.
I picked up the chicken, put it back in the tray, and set it on the counter where it was supposed to be. Then I cleaned the floor while muttering to myself about germs and why I can’t have a peaceful life.
Coal sat on the chair and watched the whole thing like he was supervising.
When I finished and turned around, he was gone.
I said, “Coal?”
From the living room I heard this quiet crinkle crinkle that always means trouble.
I walked in and found him tangled in a reusable grocery bag. Not in a dangerous way—just enough that he’d gotten the handles stuck around his neck like a bad scarf and now he was backing up slowly, confused and offended, like the bag had attacked him.
I slid the handles off and said, “Okay. New rule. No bags.”
Coal shook himself, acted like he’d survived something traumatic, and immediately started licking his fur like I was the one being dramatic.
Then he walked right back to the kitchen, jumped onto the chair, and stared up at the chicken on the counter again.
Not because he was hungry.
Some cats arrive as comfort.
