It’s no secret that cats love boxes. My house is full of boxes decked out with fluffy pads and situated next to sunny windows or warm fireplaces.
Equally, cats like paper bags that they can crawl into and practice cat jiu-jitsu till their paws push through.
Several of our cats, and most particularly Willow, just love paper. Brown paper. Sitting on it seems to give them some sort of comfort. Who knows what?
A particular piece of brown paper arrived in the house not long ago, and the whole lot went mad over it.
Grant cooks curry all the time and he had run out of a favourite spice that he’d picked up in Vermont. So I went online and ordered more.
The two tins were wrapped in a large piece of brown paper that I offered as a replacement to the previous piece that had become very tatty.
Oh well! Forget catnip. This spice paper had the cats all losing their minds, rolling on it and looking wide-eyed.
In the end, they’d all had enough, except for Willow.
She still loves her bit of paper.
And surprisingly, Lucy hasn’t tried to appropriate it.
Which she usually does with anything Willow likes.
Tomorrow is cleaning day and I try to tidy up a bit before my lady comes because I think it unreasonable to expect someone to clean a place that is full of STUFF. So Willow’s piece of paper will be put out of sight somewhere, but as she puts herself out of sight too, for the duration, that is permitted.
What I’m going to do, meanwhile, is wrap a fresh piece of paper around those spice cans. But I’ll have to leave them for a couple of days and simulate a road journey, to get the effect right. Grant says I should just keep ordering the spice. Then he’ll have to open a curry kitchen.
There is something else Tinkerbelle and Patches particularly like:
Stinky shoes. Tinkerbelle occasionally wears one as a hat, though she declined to be thus photographed. Spoilsport.
Yesterday I made the rash comment that the groundhog had not yet nibbled the phlox. Not that I’ve seen him/her at it, but this morning the poor thing was looking a little shrunken, certainly not from the rain. Some of the stalks had been cropped. Usually the beasts wait for the flowers.
This chap gets breakfast served to his doorstep. You’d think he would be more grateful! But I’m sure it’s another of his cousins that does the dastardly deed. And how could I be mad at that little face?