Festival of Furry Fun

I adopted two kittens last week. Littermates, I named them ZsaZsa and Eva. They are hard to photgraph, but here are my attempts.



How, you may ask, do I tell them apart? Well, ZsaZsa's necklace (white spot at her throat) is bigger and Eva has a crook in her tail.



Eva is at the front of this little train.

They don't sit still. They run and play and then fall down asleep in a ball of black fur.



But I went out and bought an assortment of kitty toys to keep them entertained. Allow me a moment to describe kitten responses to various toys.

Balls filled with bells? Bleh
Feathers on a stick? Yikes!
Catnip mouse? .........crickets.
Berries off fall wreath? Zowie!
Consumer warning label on comfortor? Yeah!
Q-tips? Ecstacy!
Brightly painted red toenails? THE. BEST. EVER!

They are curtain climbing, table hopping, knick knack destroying bundles of fun that like to sleep on me and look for me when I leave the room.



How could I be happier?

Goodbye

I'm fighting the tears as I type this. Today, I said goodbye to my pretty Prissy, my companion and comfort. I loved her dearly and truly know that she loved me. My father laughed about her dedication to me, her constant need to be touching me.


This was our first Christmas together. Look at that face!


Festive, huh?


How many cats do you know that love a bath?

She never liked to play. I remember once I spent about $12.00 on a clockwork mouse. I called her into the room, wound it up and set it on a table. She looked at the mouse, looked at me, back to the mouse, back to me. Then, while looking at me, she casually reached over, knocked the mouse off the table, and walked away.

I was going to publish the slideshow of a day in the life of Prissy, but instead, click here.

You know, remembering all of this has made me smile. I hope you don't mind.

The New Man In My Life

He showed up one day in January, cold, frightened, and alone. I couldn't stand it. I fed him. The neighbors also fed him.



I call him Morris, like the iconic cat with the descriminating taste. Doesn't really suit him, though. Picky, he ain't! I also call him Honeyboy.

This is my front door mat, the spot he has chosen as his.



Can you tell?

He is very loving, to the point where he is hard to photograph, he wants to be petted.



He is also a bit playful.



The pictures don't quite do him justice. He is, like so many of us, ummm...fat. Picture, if you will, a football covered in orange fur. Add four legs and a head. Now mentally fill that football with lead. That should do it. He is short and full, the complete oposite of Prissy, who is runway model long and thin. Perhaps I should call him Garfield.

He really wants to come live inside, but Prissy has put her foot down! So he will sleep on my door mat, or on my car, or under my bedroom window. I think we having a grand love affair.