Treed that one

The winner!









--------------------------------------------------------------------------------The loser!

Feline Hobo Stop

I am convinced that dumped or abandoned cats have declared our yard to be a safe haven the same way Hobos did back in the days of the Great Depression.

They wander into the yard, stay a few days and leave, but unlike Hobos, cats rarely say thanks.

We have seen at least a dozen in the past few years, and all except the star of this blog, Scooter, came, saw, ate, and departed never to be seen again.

Scooter, the orange cat, came saw, liked everything just fine thank you very much, and stayed. Going on four years now, or maybe three. Who knows, he doesn't count days either.

The little lady pictured here was a Himalayan Sealpoint. She arrived in the middle of the summer with all that fur, refused human contact, loved the food, drank the water, slept under the boardwalk and left without a goodbye.

It;s all about rescuing cats

http://www.catrescueinc.org/

http://www.purebredcatrescue.org/

http://www.saveacat.org/

http://www.bigcatrescue.org/

http://www.siameserescue.org/

Too many pets are homeless due to the economy. We rescued Scooter and were rewarded a thousand times over!

Just photos

Oh, You Wanted to Sit Here? Or, Let Sleeping Cats Lie

After a long day, I like to sit down around 9pm with a good book and read until I can no longer stay awake. Most nights this is accomplished without interference or complications.

Last evening was not most nights. The room was a bit chilly, and the reading light radiated enough heat to warm the largest of feline bodies in the house (about 18 pounds worth).

Downyflake is, Anne McCaffrey informed me, an orange Maine Coon Cat. Not uncommon according to Ms. McCaffrey. What she didn't know, is that Downyflake is called Downyflake for a reason. He's quite timid. Normally, when I walk towards the sofa to sit, he jumps down as if afraid I might land on him and crush his head.

Last night was the exception to the rule. He and I discussed the dilemma for several moments. That is me talking, him sleeping, or feigning sleep hoping I'd go somewhere else.

Finally, he peeled open his eyelids and squinted in my direction as if to plea for mercy. With a stifled groan, I carefully lifted the pillow so he wasn't disturbed, propped it up against the sofa back, and sat in a rather uncomfortable position.

Naturally, as soon as I settled in, he decided he was hungry, slowly climbed down, stretched and walked out of the living room. . .tail high, of course. Sigh!

The Cat in the Grass W/O a Hat

Scooter is showing his age in many ways. He's grown a bit of a belly, okay more than a bit, and he is a little sway-backed. However, he makes up for aging with effort and enthusiasm.

Yesterday, he spotted a small bird peeking at the far edge of the garden. He began his sneak attack from about 20 feet out, and crept, belly dragging, closer and closer. I do not know if it was the sound of his gut dragging, or if the bird just plain outsmarted him, but when Scooter pounced, he missed. I mean he wasn't even close. Of course I would not have allowed him to kill the bird if he'd succeeded, but my intervention was unnecessary.

So I razzed him about his failure and he decided it was time to demonstrate his ability to disappear, which he did handily.

From 25 feet I could not see him. As I got closer, I saw his color but no definition. Then, Scooter being Scooter, he sat up and stared as if to say, what? You got a problem?

Glad I'm not prey.

The Cat Who knew the Cat Who

It is interesting how easily a cat can disappear. Especially a large cat such as Downyflake. He weighs about 18 pounds and tries to squeeze into the smallest spaces he can find. Must be an inner-kitten thing.

Of course, he never succeeds, but does frequently vanish for hours in those spots where he fits. Searching is an act of futility. If he does not want to be found, he will not be.

He does enjoy, as do most cats, a place high above human activities. There he can watch and be ready to pounce, well, okay, Downyflake does not pounce on much of anything. He does sleep and sleep, and. . .well, sleep.

Back when I was collecting Cat Who books, piling them on the top of a bookshelf where they might be safe from cat claws, and hairballs, he decided I had created the perfect cave, closed on three sides with a roof. As you can see, he took advantage and spent many hours thinking about the Cat Who. . . no probably not, but it's fun to consider it.