Scratcher of heads, rubber of bellies
Perhaps the greatest tragedy of the catwalk is that it does not discriminate against the young or the old. This kitten, estimated at only 10 months old, has already given in and given up. I queried his owner (who refused to give his name) if he wasn’t ashamed to see his young charge in such desperate straits. He shrugged and said only in reply, “At least he’s not chewing on anyone’s feet.”
We have a couple of these heated cat beds, this one sits beside my desk. It was one of Templeton’s favorite spots when he was still with us and has now been claimed by little Sam. Scout sleeps here sometimes as well, but Emma prefers sleeping in the open on the floor or on the desk itself.
In case you think little Sam is all sweetness and light, this is what attacked my feet the other morning at 5am. Fortunately he soon kicked his foot fascination and since then he’s toed the line and been well-heeled, so I haven’t had to give him the boot and shoo him out of bed. If it wasn’t so late I could probably have thrown in a bad sock or slipper pun as well, but at least I worked in a homophone, so I’ll sleep well tonight (provided I don’t get Sammied again).
It didn’t make the local news, but early one morning I was brutally attacked without warning and without mercy. The coward struck under cover of darkness, attacking my feet while I slept. I knew my attacker even before I rolled over — Scout used to attack my feet while I slept when she was a kitten but it’s been years since she’s done that, and Emma is the only one of the new cats to perform such a heinous act.
I’m nearly blind without my contacts in but I can see general shapes and colors. It was still dark but there was enough light for me to know that my attacker was orange and not black. I used my feet to push Sammy off to the floor but he jumped back up, assuming it was part of the game. After getting pushed to the floor a few times he broke off his attack and cuddled up against me and we both drifted off to sleep.
You can get away with such things when you’re so cute and cuddly.
Emma and Sam sitting in the window in my office watching a scrub jay that flew up to the roof of the porch. Emma is showing her sharp, pointy teeth but she’s not thinking about eating a tasty bird, she’s just yawning.
You were just yawning, weren’t you Em?
Em?
Emma?
Very similar to an image I’ve posted before, but Sam scrunched his face up in this picture and it always makes me laugh.
Sam on New Year’s Day. He was still getting treatment on his ears at this point so some of the hairs in his ears are wet. The drops were cold since the medicine had to be refrigerated, so little Sam was understandably less than happy about his treatment. Despite the intense stare in the picture, though, he was immediately all purrs and happiness when you finished rubbing the drops in and started cuddling with him. Although he had a handful of things he had to be treated for from the time he was at the Humane Society through his first couple of weeks with us, thankfully he’s been healthy ever since.
One of my favorite pictures of Sam, taken a couple of months ago when he was about 5 months old. He’s growing like crazy and is about as long as Scout now (but much thinner). He’s turning into a real lap cat, the past few evenings he’s been sleeping on my lap while I’ve been watching the basketball playoffs.
I’ve been thinking a lot about Templeton lately and missing the way he would curl up on my lap and purr himself to sleep.
After I got home two nights ago, Scout climbed up on me when I sat down and curled up for a nap. Last night Sam climbed up first and then Scout came up, they were purring and rubbing all over each other before settling down.
And then tonight, Sam’s curled up in my lap as I type this.
God bless my kittens.
Sam and Emma have been with us long enough that their personalities are really starting to come out. It’s been fun to get to know them and see them blossom as they truly understand that they have found a home for the rest of their lives. All three cats are getting along well and in the mornings they’re usually all snuggled into bed with us. And even though I’ve been glad to see them develop their own distinct personalities, I have been amused that they each share a trait or two with our dear departed Templeton.
Emma has mellowed out a bit, she used to follow us underfoot every time we went up and down the stairs, which was good exercise for her, but I’m glad she’s comfortable enough now that she can see us leave the room and be OK with that. She won’t let me go to the bathroom without opening the door and coming in, but Templeton used to do that too. He didn’t push the door quite so wide open though, he at least left with me a shred of dignity.
Emma’s not the best groomer, something we suspected when we first brought her home. She does OK with the parts of her body she can lick directly, but the top of her head and back of her neck don’t get quite so clean. Scout is a fastidious groomer (almost too much so), but she won’t groom anyone else. Little Sam, though, appears to share another one of Templeton’s traits, in that not only is he a good groomer, but he’ll help you out too. He loves to lick your hand if he thinks it needs a cleaning, and I’ve seen him give Emma a little help too.
Today though he wasn’t bashful about it, he grabbed her head with both front paws and went to work. It all went well until he got a little rambunctious with the sleepy Emma. Emma had been sleeping in an Amazon box, one of Templeton’s favorite places to sleep. She’s been sleeping there a lot lately and doesn’t seem to mind the gray fur that lines the edges of the box from Templeton’s many hours in there, I just can’t bring myself to clean it out.
As far as greeting me at the door the way Templeton did, Emma comes the closest as she often sleeps near the door around the time I come home. I don’t know if she’s doing it on purpose or if she just likes sleeping there, but she’s usually at the door by the time I get it open. Sam follows Scout’s approach and usually comes running in from wherever he’s been sleeping.
It’s at those moments, though, that I wished God had blessed me with three arms to pet the three cats who come running up to welcome me home.
Boolie 