Against a backdrop of eerie shadows cast by the flickering flames from the orange-red firelight, the two predators circled each other warily.
Drawing ever closer, at last they made their move, lunging and grappling, then breaking apart only to attack again.
As if to match the movement of the shadows all around them, they leaped high into the air, their bodies arching gracefully, answering to a moment that called for finesse rather than brute strength, every move one of elegant fierceness.
Then they sat down on the living room floor and looked around, bored again.
Sometimes I think cats are crazy, but when the power is out, they certainly can be entertaining.
Normally, they would have been racing each other up and down the stairs, sounding like a herd of small elephants. They do that a lot. I’ve been thinking about building a small arena and strapping little Ben Hur-type chariots onto the kitties, just to make it interesting. Put in a couple of toy mice as “drivers” and they’d be all set.
Normally, TJ would have been stopping occasionally to put his front paws up beside the television screen and watch for a while, but, no power, no TV.
Lizzy likes to roam and meddle, which she can do in the dark as well as the light, but I don’t think it’s as much fun when there’s no chance of someone catching her batting the artificial flowers around and knocking over the vase. When she does something like that, she zips out of the room, only to casually stroll back in in a moment, her face absolutely glowing with the sweetness of innocence.
Having regrouped after their “fight,” they did something else they like to do. They play a game of “I don’t see you,” walking back and forth past each other while pretending the other is invisible.
This time, perhaps inspired by the candlelight and the dancing shadows it created, they picked up the pace. It was like watching the opening moves of a carefully choreographed dance, performed to a manic beat that only they could hear. At any moment, I expected them to turn in the same direction and engage in a forcefully and artistically executed tango (think Al Pacino and his partner in “Scent of a Woman”).
Instead, they slowed down, still walking in opposite directions, so I began singing “Strangers in the Night.”
That put a stop to the pacing, and quickly. They sat down, huddled together and fixed me with twin stares.
I hadn’t expected applause, but I hadn’t expected to frighten the poor things, either.
About that time, my son, who had been having a long, soaking bath by candlelight, poked his head around the door and said, “I was deep into my meditation, and then I heard someone singing ‘Strangers in the Night.’”
I think I frightened him, too.
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Persinger is community editor for The Tribune. She may be reached at (812) 523-7063 or jpersinger@tribtown.com.

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