It’s not far off a hundred years ago that George Formby sang about what he saw:
“When I’m cleaning windows.”
I think of it, when I’m doing dishes:
Mrs Groundhog is getting round!
The little one is filling out too, though it is svelte by comparison!
Mrs G was so intent on her carrot, she didn’t notice the little one at first.
But finally she caught sight of Junior and charged at it as fast as her fat little body could waddle.
“But dis is mine!”
it shrieked, dodging under the nearest hedge.
Conveniently Mrs G no longer fits down that particular hole.
She retreated below her slope. Still munching, and watching!
Madame Defarge came to mind.
A house with 11 cats is never short of entertainment.
A few months back, Tinkerbelle decided suddenly to appropriate one of Sophia’s baskets.
What a dear little face she has.
Sophia has many other choices, so Tinks lost interest in taunting her.
She reverted to her old habit of pouncing on her, which always brings the attention one assumes she is seeking.
Though not from me.
Recently Grant has been closing the door to his quarters, complaining of Willow’s misbehaviour.
Her delicate neurological condition causes her to pee where she shouldn’t periodically. It’s the excuse I offer.
“There will be repercussions!” said I.
With cats, there always are.
For one thing it wasn’t just Willow getting shut out.
Tinkerbelle liked to move freely up and downstairs throughout the day.
Now her freedom was being curtailed.
So she stole Muffin’s bed.
The little red bed beneath the world map has always been Muffin’s. No-one ever thought to challenge her.
Till now. Note the changing expressions of our dear little cat:
“OK, so you took my picture now scram.”
“If you don’t I may have to chew your hand.”
“See these teeth?”
“I couldn’t be bothered.”
“If I ignore her maybe she’ll go away.”
Long ago I learned to keep my hands out of Tinkerbelle’s reach.
She lived in the Foster Suite with several other cats. One evening a man came by with his 2 kids. They were interested in adopting another cat, so the man sat to discuss it with us leaving the kids in the adjacent room, admonishing them:
“Don’t go near that cat!“
Which the girl promptly did.
Scream. Wail. Drama.
There was barely the tiniest scratch. A bandaid was supplied.
Dad told the girl off and the family departed, dad saying they would check with mum about the adoption.
We could imagine how that went.
We never heard another word which was a relief because according to zoning regulations, I should not have been keeping all those cats.
All I needed was a complaint from that child’s mother to land me in trouble. It wasn’t the fine that worried me, it was the futures of all those cats.
And it wasn’t Tinkerbelle who landed me in hospital for 5 days.
It was Tikka. Lucy’s mother.
One of the other cats had chased her up onto a shelf and foolishly I put my hand up to stroke her. She was still spitting mad and bit my right index finger.
A small indent, right in the knuckle.
Because I dismissed it as insignificant, it blew up into a major infection that got into the bone.
So embarrassing to be hospitalised for a finger injury. It had started with a puncture wound, followed by an incision followed by admission to the hospital for surgery. Followed by a second surgery.
When the doctor wanted to amputate I would have agreed but Grant had come to visit and said :”NO!”
Don’t let cats bite your knuckles.
It was apparently the year my dear old maple tree came down. 2011.
A storm brought a major branch down on Father’s Day, taking out power lines and cutting electricity to the whole neighbourhood.
My name was mud that day too.
In all I seem to have spent nearly a quarter of a century worrying about getting into trouble because of cats.
Why did I purchase a condo with a no-pets rule? It was one of those times when I allowed outside factors and other people’s wishes to pressure me.
The house in Washington? No one pressured me then. I wanted to be able to foster cats and this house had three floors. It was built on a steep hill so the basement was half above ground and would make a perfect foster suite.
There were no neighbours close enough to monitor the comings and goings and really, how were a few extra cats going to upset anyone?
Some rules are made to be broken. Mostly I didn’t worry, but I was glad we never heard back from that family.
What a surprise, I’ve gone all over the place again. There was something else I saw…but I’ll go there another time.
Meanwhile it seems my original prediction for September may be valid after all.
Hot weather is in our future. Oh, not hot by Texas standards, but hot enough.
It must be confusing to be a plant here.
Sudden heat in April followed by cold.
Rain, rain, rain.
Rain. Cool August. Unheard of.
Followed by an over-warm September.
And the Almanac says snow in October.
Rather a hodge-podge, like my blog.