No one has ever been able to discover how they make this subtle sound, and what is more, no one ever will. It is a secret that has endured from the very beginning of the time of cats and will never be revealed. ― Paul Gallico
No one has ever been able to discover how they make this subtle sound, and what is more, no one ever will. It is a secret that has endured from the very beginning of the time of cats and will never be revealed. ― Paul Gallico
“A good breakfast deserves a good burp.”
(some time later) “A good snack deserves a good burp.”
(even later) “A good dinner deserves a good burp.”
She must’ve known that in some cultures in other lands, a burp after eating is considered a high compliment to whoever prepared the delicious food. An inter-cultural cat. Somehow, there’s no surprise there. Abishag may not have been able to read per se, but she was definitely a professional listener.
“It is a difficult matter to gain the affection of a cat. He is a philosophical, methodical animal, tenacious of his own habits, fond of order and neatness, and disinclined to extravagant sentiment. He will be your friend, if he finds you worthy of friendship, but not your slave.” ― Théophile Gautier
Sometimes a really hard downpour of rain makes an ordinary cardboard box into a sleek, couturier design that truly fits only one cat. Ahhh.
Abishag and Ira loved spring! They liked the calmer weather, the flowers coming up, the moles beginning to be foolish and digging tunnels where the Champion Mole Hunters could find them …
Abishag had a special fondness for butterflies and dragonflies.
Unfortunately, in spite of my efforts to exclude them from their menu, this fondness of Abishag extended to eating them.
“If you want to write, keep cats.” Aldous Huxley (Brave New World)
“And if you’z want to enjoy writing, write about cats.” – The Kibble Kids
(Dat’s us aboff. Old foto but good to look at. We dont forget Annie Rose, Geronimo, Zorro dat way.)
It was always interesting to watch as Abishag and Ira chose a place for a nap. Neither was interested in an expensive bed from the pet store. They both just wanted something comfortable for that day’s snooze.
Rarely did both want the same spot at the same time, as Ira almost always chose someplace up off the floor; the top of the office bookcase was a favorite perch for napping or just observing. He was more agile than his sister and leaping a favorite activity.
Abishag preferred a more plump cushion in her bed and on the floor was fine with her, as long as it was out of any drafts. She had more plumpness to her figure too, and had long ago quit the ‘kittenish jumping’ Ira loved to indulge.
As I’ve mentioned before and you’ve seen in their photos, the lid from a cardboard box containing reams of paper was the top choice as sleeping quarters. Living many years in a publishing company must’ve been quite an influence.
There must definitely be a reason that short naps are called ‘cat naps.’
Cats seem to sleep anywhere, noise or no noise, upon a hard wood table or the softest quilt. And they appear to wake refreshed, energy restored.
Einstein and Edison took frequent very short cat naps, especially when they were working on specific, complicated problems. And they certainly accomplished tremendous advancements in their fields.
So why aren’t these measured-by-moments naps called ‘people naps’ ?
This link will take you to one of my favorite YouTube videos of all time. It’s the story of an abandoned kitten who was rescued by a monk and stayed at the monastery where she obviously felt she belonged. I’ve had a cat who meditated regularly, but nothing compared to this uplifting article! Please click here:
And have a wonderful day! (If I’ve posted this before, I apologize. It’s just so heart-warming … purrs to all.)
Dis box no good.
What’s that, Gabby?
Dis box gots no room for a cat even my siz.
Well, it’s not really a box. It’s a home for bees, called a bee hive.
Bee hive? Dat what you always tellin us to do.
Good cats be hive alla time.
Oh, Gabby, that’s one of the worst puns ever.
I’m good at dem. Ize smart.
Yes to both those statements, Gabriella.
Gets a treat?
Yes, again. And I’ve been outsmarted by a five-pound cat.
Don’ worry bout dat. All cats smarter den hoomans.
See my ears? I’m annoyed. And now I forgot what I was going to say, human. It was important, too. I don’t say things that aren’t.
I’m sorry, Abishag. I thought you’d finished your sentence. I guess you were thinking.
Hmph. Impatient humans. Hurry, hurry, hurry. How am I going to win the Nobel Prize for Literature if you keep rushing me?
Good Heavens. Is that all you want?
It’s a start.
Thought readers might enjoy a bit of nostalgia, or something from the past. Abishag could be acerbic, too.
(Continued from Tuesday)
I found my storage building again but the humans didn’t know me. I was dirty and bloody and had no tail. I was skin and bones. The taller human brought me some kibble and I ate it, very thankful to have food at last. I slept in the storage building that night.
The next day, the silly dog the humans were dog sitting saw me as I came out of the storage building and started barking. It scared the smaller human who had the silly dog on a leash. When I ran at them happy to see them, she didn’t know me at first. She screamed and the dog kept barking until I ran up to him and licked his ears.
Then the smaller human screamed for joy and scooped me up in her arms crying and laughing and screaming some more. She was sure noisy about me coming home.
But I was glad to be home. I never got lost again.
Instead, I lived in the smaller human’s office and learned to write books. She said I was living in a publishing company and she wrote books and edited them. I helped her a lot. She would read something to me and if I didn’t think it was good, I’d make a face at her and she would change it.
I really had very good taste. The books I helped her with sold well.
Then she and a friend, Harold Konstantelos, wrote the book that made me famous. Oh, and Ira was in it too. Even Kezia, the snobby cat who didn’t want me to live in the house with Ptolemy and her was in the book. Ira had wanted to live in the house too because he thought Kezia was pretty but she didn’t like him.
A big publishing company took the book, Three Wise Cats A Christmas Story, and sold it across the country and around the world. I, Abishag, was world famous. There were book reviews in lots of magazines and people told the smaller human and her friend how much they liked the book. I was so pleased people liked my book. Ira was too.
The years went by and the smaller human kept writing and editing. She and her friend wanted another book to be taken by that same publishing company but couldn’t write one that the company wanted.
Some more years went by and then Ira started getting older. He couldn’t jump as far as he had before. He used to run across the open beams of the office ceiling to make the smaller human gasp and worry about him falling. I just looked up at him and told him how much it would hurt if he fell off a beam. He couldn’t do that any more either.
Then Ira had a series of something the smaller human called strokes and got even thinner than he had always been. He couldn’t use his right rear leg, but he hid that from the smaller human. He couldn’t see very well either. Then he wasn’t there in the office with me any more.
I didn’t think I would miss him but I did. Sometimes.
It’s been over a year since Ira went wherever he went. I don’t see quite as well as I did before either, and I’m very thin now too. But I’m still very, very smart. I don’t have to share the smaller human with Ira now. And all of the pats and brushing and combing and little treats are all for ME.
I know when I’m not in the office any more the smaller human and the taller human are both going to be sad. The smaller human will be more sad though because I kept her company every day and I helped her with all of her books.
The smaller human has promised me she’ll write all the rest of my books for me even if I’m not with her and that she’ll see me again some future day. She wants to have a big house and get all of her cats and dogs together to live with her once she’s no longer in her office.
I guess that’s okay. Do humans go to the Rainbow Bridge too?
But I want my own room and my own bed and my little pink mouse that she made for me and my soft blue blanket and some lemon cookies and sweet tea. I deserve them.
I am Abishag. And there will never ever be another cat as smart or cute or as good an editor as me. My autobiography will be a best seller.
Ira thinks he’s as good an editor but he’s not.
I am the best. And I know I am the best Abishag that ever was.
It seemed appropriate to publish Abishag’s autobiography this week, as it’s been a year exactly since she left for the Rainbow Bridge. I hope I wrote this just the way she wanted it. – Editor
I was born in the country and my mother was named Sapphire. She was a black cat too.
She wasn’t there any more when I was just a few months old so I went to live next door. They had a cat or two for me to play with and to have as friends.
I lived in what the humans called a storage building but I made it my own.
Then another mother cat came with a skinny black kitten a month younger than me. He said his name was Ira. They wanted to stay with me in the storage building.
At first I didn’t like it but then Ira’s mother wasn’t there any more so I let him stay with me.
The humans took good care of us but it was cold at night and we heard coyotes a lot. I asked the oldest cat who came outside once in a while if we could live with him but he said another cat named Kezia didn’t want us in the house.
The smaller human liked both Ira and me and often let us come up into what she called her office. It was nice up there. She gave us boxes with old sweaters to sleep in and toys and food. I liked going outside during the day and having the office to sleep in at night. I felt safe.
But Ira wanted to stay out at night too. He did that a lot.
So one night it was getting really dark and very late and the human was calling Ira and he didn’t come in.
And she called some more and he didn’t come in.
I had already come inside and had my dinner. I wanted to go to bed, but no Ira.
Finally the smaller human was very worried and we both could hear coyotes howling. She opened the door to go look for Ira one more time and he ran in! He had been running a long time, because he threw himself on the floor and had to gasp a lot before he caught his breath. It sounded like the coyotes were right behind him. I think they had followed him clear to the front yard.
So the human said that was it. Ira had come too close to being eaten by coyotes and we were going to be inside cats from then on.
I wonder what she said to Ira when a few weeks later I didn’t come in. But it wasn’t my fault.
I was hunting mice in the flower bed behind the house and didn’t want to go in the office. Ira was already inside but I was still hungry and wanted one more mouse for a snack. The smaller human wasn’t happy about leaving me outside but she told me they had to go to the store because there was a bad snow storm coming and that they would be right back.
When they came back I was gone.
That night a really bad winter storm (almost a blizzard) hit. It was so cold! I had run as far as I could to get away from something that had sneaked up behind me and scared me. Now the snow was sticking to the ground and nothing smelled like home any more.
I was so cold. The wind blew even harder and there were no stars out or trees that looked like any I’d seen. I crept under a porch for the night. It wasn’t much warmer under there but at least the wind wasn’t blowing on me.
The snow was up to my shoulders the next morning. I was lost.
I stayed lost a long, long time. I wandered and wandered. Once or twice I thought I heard the humans calling me but I couldn’t get to where I had heard them before they were gone. I was all alone.
One horrible night a coyote smelled me and I had to start running again. The snow was finally gone but I hadn’t had much to eat and I couldn’t run as far or as fast as I could before. I jumped through a small hole in a wood wall just as the coyote snapped at me. He got my tail.
I screamed. It hurt, really hurt. I had to stay there for what seemed like weeks but I guess it was only a day or two.
A day or two later I looked out of the hole in the wall and smelled the breeze. Oh!
IT SMELLED LIKE HOME!
I had to walk slowly because I was weak but I knew the way home now.
To be continued on Thursday (see, I know what writers do to interest their readers – Abishag)
The folks a couple of houses away have two large dogs, which are very well-behaved. Except when one of our cats decides to race under one of their noses, or boldly walk up to the living room window and peer in to see where the dogs are at the moment.
Then there are times when our cats decide to behave themselves too. The photo is of a farmer’s field, letting the sun bake the weed seeds under the black plastic so they don’t germinate and grow. You’ll note there’s a couple of black sandbags out there – or are they? ‘Kibble Kids’ Jamesie, Sis and Hoss figured out they can sit absolutely still, with their white paws tucked underneath, and the dogs think they’re ‘just another sandbag.’ So they’re sunning themselves, probably smiling a little, and playing a small joke on the dogs.
“I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.”
Abishag would’ve been delighted at Poe’s comment.
When you’ve got three tuxedos living in the backyard, you have to look very closely to see who’s who. The top photo is Hoss Cartwright, with his spotless white half-socks.
The middle photo is Sis, with her dainty, trim anklets.
The last photo is their mom, Jamesie, sporting her knee socks. (The right one, just like a human’s socks, always appears to be sliding down.)
And of course if they’re in motion, you can forget telling which one is running in which direction. Your best bet here is to call, “Dinner time!” and get them inside. They’ll sort themselves out in the dining hall.
When books which weren’t textbooks were being written and illustrated for children to read and enjoy … (and now we can still enjoy them too, whether we’re children or not). This illustration, by Ida Waugh, is from “Kittyboy’s Christmas” written by Amy Blanchard, published in 1898. Courtesy of Project Gutenberg.
Somehow that small black kitten reminds me of Ira. Purrs, everyone.
When you run out of reading material – especially about cats – try Project Gutenberg. I’m sure I’ve mentioned them before, but they’re continuing with their mission to keep older books available to the general public. (https://www.gutenberg.org) They have some titles which I’d bet you’ve never read – unless you’re 100 or so years old. Try reading several of the over 500 books about felines which are already online, and you’ll glimpse the world in which our great-grandparents grew up.
Helen Hunt Jackson has a book too, purportedly written by her own cat. It’s sad, detailing the many mishaps which can befall a cat, but definitely shows everyday life long ago. “Letters from a cat” Helen Hunt Jackson (who also wrote “Ramona”)
(Skip “The Calico Cat” by Charles Miner Thompson. Too detailed an account of a man who hated the neighborhood stray.)
“Kreativity for Kats” by Fritz Leiber is a more modern tale (1961; copyright not renewed) but truly entertaining.
And three more; fittingly, “Three Little Kittens” , “Kittyboy’s Christmas” and “The Candle and the Cat”.
Let me know what you think of some of these; I think we cat people would enjoy them. And I’m tempted to start a new project involving these books, to be detailed in the weeks ahead. Purrs!
When it’s snowy and freezing outside, a cat needs to convince the human that:
A. It’s too cold to get out of bed to eat
B. The cat is too cold to get out of bed to eat
C. The cat is too weak from hunger to get out of bed to eat.
D. All of the above.
The cat, of course, will always choose “D”. And wonder why the human is laughing as breakfast gets delivered to the bedside.
“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks … but an old cat will invent her own.”
“A dead flea bites no cats.”
“Food, especially gravy, is in the eye of the bowl holder. And possession of the bowl means I get all the gravy.”
Illustration by Addie Ledyard
From Oxford Languages: “cat”
a small domesticated carnivorous mammal with soft fur, a short snout, and retractable claws. It is widely kept as a pet or for catching mice, and many breeds have been developed.
Urban Dictionary: “Cats”
Ninjas in fur suit with knives hidden in the paws. Author – iwillneverbeafraidagain
Or: the things trying to kill you in your sleep, the things trying to protect you from the things trying to kill you in your sleep …
Author – considerthefollowing
From Your Dictionary: Cat meaning
A small, lithe, soft-furred animal (Felis cattus) of this family, domesticated since ancient times and often kept as a pet or for killing mice.
Or, as Gertrude Stein may have said, “A cat is a cat is a cat.”
T’was the week after Christmas, and all through the house
every cat was listening, hoping for a mouse
To turn up atop a counter or ‘neath the stove,
And some lucky cat would catch it on the rove.
Oh! The squeaks they would hear
as the mouse saw them loom in sight,
the racing to catch it
by pale moonlight.
The scramble, the hurry, the flurry, the flight
of a panic-stricken mouse in the middle of the night.
The crash and the clatter
wouldn’t really matter,
as four paws, eight paws, then eleven
made three cats sound like at least twenty-seven.
The jubilation when the rodent was trapped at last!
The tri-pawed cat proven to be just as fast
as his sibling and housemate, both arriving too late
to assist the mouse in meeting his fate.
And then came the humans, woken from sleep,
who told the fastest cat “No, he couldn’t keep
the mouse he’d captured with effort so great,”
and “to go back to bed; it was very, very late.”
But he did get catnip, and several treats as well,
so he thought the swap was pretty swell,
because frankly the mouse wasn’t plump or delicious –
just the amazing appearance of three cats’ wishes.
And a Happy New Year from the Kibble Kids v.1 and v.2 plus (Uncle) Pete.
You needs to tell them we’s the workin farm cats too. An the farm is mos six haykers, so we stays bizzy.
That’s true, Fred. And you do work hard.
Plus we’s hansome or prety an very smart.
I’d agree with all of that, too.
An we’s writing a book.
So we’s all gonna be faymust an rich.
From just one book?
You said you ed it for us. Makes it bedder an’ den we sell mor books.
That’s the theory behind editing, yes. But it doesn’t guarantee a book sells lots of copies.
Easy to sell lots of copies.
Tell me your secret?
A nice fresh mousie in evry book. Markting done!
Fred, I hope you never open an ad agency.
What is it about cats and laundry baskets? If there’s one handy, empty or filled with laundry – dirty or clean, it doesn’t matter – see basket, insert cat.
Baskets have been around longer than pottery, so perhaps cats have been sleeping in all kinds of baskets since the Egyptians or earlier. The oldest carbon-dated baskets have an estimated age of 10 to 12,000 years old, and were used many centuries before pottery became popular. They can be used to transport food back to a rudimentary encampment, or store food for the future. Unless the mice and rats destroy it. Cue the cat.
So today Grayson is simply enjoying a nap in an historically-relevant structured space. Does he care what his ancestors did? Probably not. If the basket is still there tomorrow, however, he’ll enjoy yet another nap in it.
Sleep well, my friend. You’re a part of history, whether you know it or not.
A friend sent this photo a while back, when I was wanting new snoozing arrangements for the fur kids. I’d never really looked at the floor in the photo, concentrating instead on the shelves with small padded beds, the wall-hung unit, etc.
But in a good light, with time to peruse the photo, I now find a pot-bellied pig napping with the cats.
I’m surprised the cats would tolerate such an odd addition to their ‘family.’ Maybe he’s just visiting? Or taking advantage of the animal equivalent of an AirBnB ? Perhaps it’s a stuffed toy, put there for a bit of humor. And it could be the cats are conducting some research on whether pigs do indeed fly.
Nudge, nudge. Oink, oink.
There really is a cat in the shadows of the cardboard box!
The first giveaway is Ira’s pink tongue, as he begins his bath. Then you can see his eyes as you change your position in relation to the photo.
Obviously he’s working for the CIA – Cat Investigators Anonymous.
There’s been a theory (in my thoughts) for some time: could cats possibly be reincarnated humans?
Sounds silly, but hear me out. They’re stubborn, determined, deliberate and capable of planning ahead. They’re usually quiet, think a lot, have favorite toys and prefer certain other cats. They may or may not come when they’re called, or sleep when you want them to, eat when they want to and generally operate on their own schedule and timetable. They have a sense of humor. They’re self-reliant.
Now, doesn’t that sound like a human counterpart? They can hold a grudge, throw a tantrum, watch wistfully for their favorite human to get home from work, and terrorize a kitten. (Which will pay the older cat back, once it’s the same size or bigger.)
They make up their own rules, interrupt whatever you’re trying to do, and can be sweet and cuddly when the mood strikes.
So IF cats are reincarnated humans, there’s a huge amount of shared characteristics that may help all of us understand one another much better. There’s just one more remaining question.
The question is, which life is a reward, and which life is the punishment?
The very first Abishag, Ira and Kezia blog, Nov. 28, 2012:
“Welcome to all with companion cats
Hello to those who read about cats, have them in their homes and frequently try (note: the operative word is ‘try’) to figure them out. As the co-authors of “Three Wise Cats” A Christmas Story, we decided to show you and the rest of our readers the ‘behind the scenes’ lives of our many cats. Enjoy!”
And now there have been a total of 570 blogs posted, according to WordPress. …
I’m the last one still standing of the two authors and the main characters in Three Wise Cats and I’d like to give a special salute to the folks who’ve stuck with us all through the years. Thank you for each and every time you, our readers, have clicked on this posting, to read it and (hopefully) enjoy and share it.
The plan is for this blog to continue getting published, and get better with each post. I owe that to Harold, Abishag, Ira, Kezia and of course, Ptolemy.
I want to stand at the Rainbow Bridge some day in the future, with all my dearly-loved companions gathered around, and have Abishag’s little face turned up to mine as she says, “Good job. Now let’s go hunt moles.”
This seems to be at the top of everyone’s list for Christmas this year.
(sigh) Since I couldn’t actually catch a mouse if someone paid me to do so, I suggested to the Kibble Kids that we leave this problem up to Santa Claus. Fred, Jamesie, Uncle Pete (a Kibble Kid by adoption), Gabby, Hoss, Sis and Molly Ta’Male agreed to be satisfied with whatever Santa deemed best.
“After alls,” Fred said, wisely, “We dusn’t want to make our giffs hard for Santa to find. Becaws elfs can’t make mousies.”
Guess I better make a bunch of felt mice for them this year. After all, Abishag had a lot of fun with the pink one I made for her. And the Abishag Stamp of Approval was not that easily earned.
“If you want to write, keep cats.”
— Aldous Huxley (author, Brave New World)
Brings to mind that quote, attributed to Mae West, who recommended every girl keep a diary. “Keep a diary always, and then someday it’ll keep you.”
In case you’re replete from turkey and its trimmings, but not sated enough to willingly watch the fourth game on TV, sneak out your laptop and go to a great article by the Metropolitan Museum of Art about the culture of cats in Ancient Egypt. Click here: https://mymodernmet.com/cats-in-ancient-egyptian-art/
Muzdakis’ article contains some fascinating tidbits about the customs of the time and the reverence with which cats were regarded.
You may consider reading it to your cat (as if your favorite feline didn’t already know about the homage paid to them in days of yore) but remind said feline he or she is living in modern times now and that doesn’t include clawing the sofa with impunity.
Nope. First of all, halos aren’t under your chin. They’re above your head.
Secondly, this pair of cats are Slim and Spot. The likelihood of them ever having halos is – well, let’s just say the odds are heavily against that probability.
Sorry, you two. Nice try, though.
It was always interesting to ask Ira something – he’d consider your question carefully, with the ‘thinking’ expression on his face (see photo), and you could see the wheels turning inside that Oriental Siamese hard head of his.
Note his casual lounging position too, leaning on his left elbow.
He made a point of being totally suave, self-assured, beautifully well-mannered. The epitome of cool in an impeccably tailored black fur suit, with just a touch of white underneath.
Have the movie producers and director considered making the next ‘James Bond’ a cat?
And here we began to think the Kibble Kids V.3 just weren’t going to live up to the exploits of Kibble Kids V.1 and V.2.
Herman caught the mouse as it squeezed under the office building door to escape the outside cats. (Bad move, mouse.) Then he brought it up the stairs to my office and dropped it on my shoe. I congratulated him and went on with what I was doing, so he picked up the mouse and flung it against my leg.
It was risk getting beaten with a deceased mouse or brag on Herman an inordinate amount for his first trophy.
I bragged on Herman.
And disposed of the bedraggled mouse when Herman wasn’t looking.
We must replace that threshold for the door.
While it looks like Spot completely lost her head, she really didn’t. No headless cats in this household, I’m glad to say. (Some people would say she ‘ate her head off’ after them seeing all the kibble bits on the floor.) She has an odd habit of propping her head on a cupboard, or, in this case, a freezer, and apparently is really comfortable doing so, as she stays in that position a long time.
This would’ve made quite a photo for Halloween.
It’s your trick that you played, Spot. But what were you hoping for as a treat?
Dis my lion look.
Heavens, Fred. You do look rather like a lion, with your eyes slanted and your jaw set like that.
Told you. I’ze a lion today.
Okaay. Should I ask why you want to look like a ferocious wild animal?
To scares everbody.
That sounds like a good reason, but now I’m wondering why you want to scare everyone.
Tired of being Mr. Nice Cat.
Well. Fred, I’m glad to hear you say that. You give away almost every mouse you catch. Your youngest niece and nephew are old enough to catch their own mice. Put your paw down.
Zackly. Tuff love from Unkel Fred from now ons.
Good for you, Fred. Good for you!
Ira proving he was a ‘basket case.’
The Toybox Box Ghost does not approve of you sleeping with all the toys. You have been warned …
Abishag should have had a prettier trophy than the hastily-sketched one in a previous blog.
This is nicer. And it looks sort of like a mole’s nose, which would’ve tickled her funny bone.
Team Mole-Hunting Champions
First of all, you have to have another cat to make a team. I was only able to have my brother on my team, so there wasn’t much choice.
But his skinny legs were useful. We caught more moles than any other cats in the neighborhood, so we were declared the Champions. Hooman neighbors would walk over to our backyard to watch us. They were always impressed.
We figured out a great mole-hunting technique. Ira would be at one end of a long mole tunnel and would stick a skinny leg down through the soft dirt into the passage.
This would scare the stinky mole so bad, it would stupidly run to the other end of the tunnel to try and escape.
And I was waiting when it stuck its stupid stinky head above the tunnel.
WHAM! That was the last thing the smelly stinky mole ever heard.
And then I ate him.
Sometimes I’d put my paw into the tunnel. And the smelly stupid mole would run to the other end of the tunnel. And then Ira would eat him.
So goodbye, moles. If you smelled better, I might feel sorry for you. But you smell like really dirty dirt.
(Reference: My second book, How to Hunt Moles By Abishag. My first book was Biography of a Mouse. Please buy the set.)
Editor’s Note: I changed ‘Championships’ to Champions in the title, as that sounded better. I think Abishag would okay the change.
And now you know why they call it a ‘catwalk.’
Amazing just how much one look from a cat can convey.
I wonder how long my singed eyebrows took to grow back.
You mean the gate has to be attached to the carrier?
You didn’t say that.
You hoomans are so picky about everything. Sheesh.
In those days, they didn’t have cat memes or YouTube videos.
When it’d been a rough day, they just sat with a cat on their lap and quietly did nothing for a while.
Maybe we should return to some Renaissance notions of ‘dealing with stress.’
While Abishag was a bit plump for many of her years as an indoor cat, she still felt the cold and intensely disliked a chilly breeze.
When the weather started to cool, she always enjoyed her freshly-washed blanket, a generous amount of sunshine coming through the window and of course the gas log fireplace.
Cats often teach us humans to enjoy the simple things too.
Evidently Pete, our Yard Guard and Watch Cat (the best one we’ve ever had outside) hasn’t heard the awful saying about what curiosity does to a cat.
He’d seen a small lizard scurry across the canary melons on the pallet, and was either defending them or looking for some ‘fast food.’
I’m happy to say he was unharmed by his adventuring. (He also didn’t get stuck somewhere. At the size of a cocker spaniel, Pete is one hefty cat.)
It seems scientist Isaac Newton was working on some experiments while at the University of Cambridge. However, as cats are wont to do, his kept scratching at the door, wanting to be in – or out – or in – or out, interrupting his thoughts and progress.
Newton’s solution was to call the campus carpenter to cut two holes in the door to his quarters, one for his mother cat and the other for her kittens. Who would’ve thought the brilliant scientist who realized the existence of gravity would also invent the cat door?
“How Stuff Works” not only mentions the story, but says tourists can see the door and the two holes cut into it for the convenience of Newton’s cats to this day.
Those tiny paw prints at the bottom of the photo belong to Gabby, our five-pound adventuress.
The other, much bigger prints likely belong to a full-grown coyote.
Even though I tell myself I need to stop worrying when one or more of them is late coming home for dinner, I still go out calling and looking for them until all the Kibble Kids are safely inside their ‘dorm building’ for the night. (Their little cardboard box beds lined with old sweaters and blankets look like the Seven Dwarves’ home in ‘Snow White.’)
Being a ‘pet parent’ actually is comparable to having teens around the house.
But at least the Kibble Kids won’t ask to borrow the car keys.
This huge mural at Elysian Heights Elementary School in Los Angeles honors ‘Room 8,’ a stray gray cat who spent the school years from 1952 to 1968 being the much-beloved pet of all the kids. Room 8 was featured in many news stories over those long years, as well as having a book written about him, a movie and many tributes from the kids etched in the paving stones around the school. Atlas Obscura is keeping his legend alive.
You can read the rest of Room 8’s story here: https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/room-8-the-cat-mural
You’re intruding on my personal space!
Mewow, this outdoor restaurant is really crowded. Next time, I’ll make a reservation and come later, for dinner instead of lunch.