The Call of the Wild Side

Downyflake (not his real name, but used to avoid embarrassment), is a large orange Maine coon cat according to Anne McCaffrey. He does not often display the intelligence I suspect he has. Perhaps he doesn't want to let on how smart he is since if he did, I would expect more from him than sleeping, eating and well the end product of eating.

I have not witnessed him watch TV in the 8 years he's been a member of our family. That changed rather suddenly, while we watched a show about the tiger that escaped from a zoo enclosure and had a visitor for a late night snack.

Downyflake seemed transfixed, rarely moving his eyes or ears. His focus was total. So much so, that he did not react to my using the flash to capture the moment, which I refer to as his call to the wild side.

Guess that DNA stuff runs deep and runs silent.

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.