Grandma's Cats

My father’s mother is a fiery red-head with ice blue eyes. She has a temper to match her hair, but for the most part it has remained dormant in the presence of her grandchildren. I don’t like to see grandma loose her cool anymore than the next person, so when possible, I keep cats out of her walkway. I love cats. They are my favorite animal. Chances are in my previous life I was a cat. My grandma on the other hand, was a dog. A couple of years ago grandma was given two felines of the best quality with tender personalities to match their thin skin. Three months after she received the pets I came to visit grandma again, but her cats were gone. In their place were two snarling, spitting, possessed-of-the-devil tigers, with paws flexed for the kill. Grandma had wanted two farm cats, and so she made them into such within a three month time frame of kicking them when they wanted to be petted, spraying water on them when they were starving and throwing them by various body parts when they were within lawn boundaries. I still haven’t forgiven her.