There should have been a rainbow that evening but perhaps we were underneath it, the ‘pot of gold’ simply the light we were bathed in.
Which is really worth more?
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Summer’s version of overnight window decorations. Artist presumably a slug.
(Condensation from the air conditioner.)
Give me frost any day! (above)
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Making slow progress here today!
No sooner did I start to write than the power went off. After a few minutes I realised I could hear a motor running.
It was the washing machine, so it wasn’t a power outage. Just a popped circuit breaker.
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Easy enough to fix, but now my computer is sulking. It really doesn’t like un-planned outages.
Now I’ve lost my train of thought which was pretty thin to begin with.
The cats are all flaked out in little puddles around the house. Dreaming about their next meal, no doubt.
Or their next mouse.
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Sophia is still in sick bay, only because we need to monitor how well her waterworks are doing. Every other time we’ve had a cat with a urinary tract infection, the situation has been rectified within hours of the anti-biotic being administered.
Sophia is not quite there yet.
In the meantime she seems quite happy to be in a room alone where none of the others can pester her.
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Screaming at the rotten beasts has no effect, other than raising my blood pressure.
We threaten to box their ears but of course they know we won’t.
Once, I tried to modify a naughty cat’s behaviour by employing a water gun.
The cat in question laughed at me.
Modify a cat’s behaviour? Of course he laughed.
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Things are a tiny bit unsettled in the cat population just now.
At night my poor Willow has been banned from downstairs although she is still allowed there during the day.
It is claimed she does wicked things during the overnight hours. Leaving her mark.
This upsets the order of things.
The closed door, not leaving a mark although I suppose one leads to the other.
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With cats one thing always leads to another.
Toby likes to wander up and down but he seems the least bothered by the closed door, agreeing to stay without complaint on whatever side he finds himself at time of closing.
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Patches had recently adopted the routine of sitting with me as I read in bed. Between 10 and 11 pm I do a quick tour of the house before settling down and at this point Patches likes to go downstairs.
There’s no way of being sneaky about it because the door is swollen.
In any case Willow knows.
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She watches reproachfully as I open the door for Patches. Then when I get back in bed to read until I feel sleepy….
My little love wails:
“Why? Why this door closed?”
“Who will catch the mousies?”
The other night she remembered to nip down there before closing and brought her victim up to toss around a while then sat down beside me to chomp it down.
And I thought at least with the door closed I would be spared such obscenities!
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It isn’t only Willow who wails though Lucy’s cries are nothing to do with a closed door.
She wakes periodically from her dreams and calls out in anxiety, needing to know I am nearby.
She won’t sleep on or by my bed, so I talk to her and if that doesn’t calm her, it’s back up again to pet her for a few minutes.
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Dee Dee’s only concern is being wherever Grant is, though in the afternoon she enjoys sitting by the living room window staring at whatever creature comes by looking for a meal.
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“You wud fits right in my mouff!”
She taunts the poor things.
“Oh not me. I never!”
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The trouble with upsetting any cat is that there may be repercussions.
Willow began digging at my bed cover which made me nervous.
It was scuffed again this morning so I went to pull the cover back up and out shot Willow who had innocently burrowed in to my freshly laundered bed for a private nap.
So now I’m in trouble again.
Thank you, Carolyn, for continuation of cats’ saga, and your beautiful pictures of your companions.
Joanna
Great pictures
Oh my, the cats rule this house š. But hey, remember you’re only visitors (that should not forget about the serving of meals), so I guess you just have to put up with these behaviours! But I mean, who won’t … just look at those sweet little faces š.
In America, a ‘Cat House’ has a very different meaning. But you live in a real one.
Best wishes, Pete.
Quite!