Affixing any one of those stamps was once sufficient to convey a letter across the States.
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The envelope enclosed some cartoons.
Here are the cat ones.
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Bathing a cat is something I did twice without fatal injury. In one case it was baby Yeti, aged all of 5 weeks. She came from low-rent origins and was infested with fleas, so the first thing we had to do was remove them. She made no protest about the bath or about being removed from her family at such a young age.
The other cat was a stray that my friend Tim found in his garden. We fixed her up and found her a good home and I don’t recall shedding blood on that occasion either.
Generally speaking though, bathing or pilling cats is risky business.
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My acupuncturist.
He’s not sure where to find the trigger points, so he sticks them all with his sharp bits.
Teeth and claws.
“Only trying to help!”
He gets a little over enthusiastic at times.
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It’s very faint now, but I’ve always treasured my first cat souvenir, acquired in 1957, when Kliang took offense at my attempts to introduce him to another cat and bit my thumb.
Mohammed, pictured here, for some reason got excited one day as I lay on the floor exercising. He latched onto an arm bunny-kicking.
With difficulty, I dragged him off , at which point he seemed to come out of his frenzy and I swear he looked embarrassed, maybe even contrite!
My forearm had the appearance of ground meat.
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Twenty-pound Cisco, startled early one morning by a loud noise, landed with claws extended on my face.
That scar is luckily not recognizable as such. It became just one more wrinkle.
My right index finger became a strange shape after three surgeries, following Tikka’s bite into the knuckle which became infected.
Beware a cat’s sharp bits!
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Cold weather equals ice.
Time to check out the upper weir.
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Irresistible ice.
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Always fascinating.
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After a long-ago ice storm on Long Island, I became enraptured with ice.
The morning after was dazzling.
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Also very dangerous, of course.
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Fire is mesmerizing too, though I am inclined to steer clear of it.
The elements are indeed awesome.
And command respect.
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Grant spotted wildfowl on the ice.
The telephoto brought them close.
Common mergansers.
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Mrs Merganser turned her head for me.
Her husband is a handsome chap, but I think she’s equally pretty.
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Next day, we were out again.
Beneath interesting clouds.
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On route 22.
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Why do I feel those trees are waving and shouting?
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Similar picture to the day before but – different.
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A touch of cloud…
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…and an empty road…
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…have entirely their own atmosphere.
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A ray of light lifted the mood.
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For many, light may seem a little remote just now, but where there’s light, there’s life.
And where there’s life, there’s hope.
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Thank you, Carolyn, for your dedication and indeed bravery but I would draw a line before injured by my pets! I love our photographic talent!
Joanna
Those aren’t scars, they’re badges of honour!
That’s true up to the point where you lose an eyeball!
Yes, I’ve always thought so!
The gravestone cartoon is a classic!
When I had a cat, she never had a bath from the day I got her until she died. I knew better than to even try to attempts that.
Best wishes, Pete.
I remember how our spaniels enjoyed their bath time – well, luckily (most) spaniels love water. A friend has a cat that she once tried to bathe after he apparently rolled in mud puddles all night long – she decided it was a death sentence and took him to a pet groomer (where he behaved like an angel). I love your ice pics … and try to remember that the birds don’t necessarily get as cold as I think they do!