Friday Cat Blogging

Lack of inspiration leads to imitation. Plus, I like cats.

I didn't used to. I only had dogs before I got married. Dobermans. Didn't see the use in cats. Then we moved out next to the corn field and cats became a necessity. My long-time friend, Saavik the Doberman, had died. Then I discovered gardening. So, we got cats.

Once we installed a cat door, I was thoroughly converted. Cats take care of themselves! Who knew? Early on we had quite a succession of cats. They were pretty adventurous and all chose to eventually leave and live among the coyotes, traversing the plains as mascots for the pack of wild beasts. Yeah, that's it.

Our latest couple of feline roommates have either been smarter or less adventurous. Oh, who am I kidding? They've been less adventurous and have managed to stick around for several years.

First we got Archie. Archie bites. Hard.

It's not that he's got a rotten temperament or anything. He loves people. He really does! He loves how they taste most of all. A typical dinner guest at our house will invariable say "Oh! That tickles!" at some point in the evening. Archie will have licked them on the back of the leg. Unless forcibly ejected from the room, he will continue to lick and lick and lick until he has properly prepared his entree. Then, chomp!

We paroled Archie from death row. He wasn't really guilty - probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Is that the face of a criminal? He had his sentence commuted. We think his experiences in prison may account for his unfortunate table manners.

Steve came along later. She was rescued by my good friend M2. M2 gave Steve to Jackson as his own little chemotherapy companion. She was so tiny and starved then. Not so much now.

Steve is a voodoo priestess. She believes she is a queen among men and all must bow down before her. Yes, there is a cat door. No, she is not going to use it. She possesses powers far beyond those of mortal men. No matter where you are in the house you can feel the heat from her otherworldly stare as she sits before the front door, demanding to be let in. She will bite if you are dense enough to ignore her commands, but she is more usually satisfied by a not-so-priestly application of claw to forearm or hand. She likes to hide in the houseplants and attack your ankles as you walk by. Each successful attack is followed by a disdainful flip of the tail and a baleful glare.

Cats crack me up!