“Cats randomly refuse to follow orders to prove they can.”
― Ilona Andrews, Magic Strikes
“Hubert T. Hairball alias Huey”
There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats.
NOTE: Our Huey was a most admirable cat. Big, soft, loving, and gentle. He went to that Great Comfy Basket in the Sky at the age of 16, and we still miss him after all these years.
“I meant,” said Ipslore bitterly, “what is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?”
Death thought about it.
“CATS,” he said eventually. “CATS ARE NICE.”
–Terry Pratchett, “Sourcery”
NOTE: Our Snickers was a very nice cat. Death would have liked her, too. Maybe that’s why he ferried her away last summer. We sure do miss her.
“I would like to see anyone, prophet, king or God, convince a thousand cats to do the same thing at the same time.”
Beau was without a doubt, my favorite cat of all time, in a long list of much loved kitties. He was huge and impressive–a real specimen! And he was a polydactyl, meaning he had extra toes, and not just on his front feet, like most poly’s. His back feet were the size of snowshoes! Plus, he used his feet like hands, and even picked up his food from his bowl to eat, instead of putting his face down in the dish. I was convinced I could teach him to write or draw if I could only get him interested in it. But like most cats, he knew exactly who he was, and didn’t need lessons of any sort from me.
Sadly, we lost Beau a few years ago from a brain tumor at a mere twelve years of age. He should have had a lot more time with us, but I’m grateful for the years we did have. Watching this 22-pound big boy go about his daily routine was a great pleasure, and I miss him to this day. He is buried in our garden, under a blue gazing ball, and I think of him every time I water that flower bed.
“If a fish is the movement of water embodied, given shape, then a cat is the diagram and pattern of subtle air.”
–Doris Lessing, On Cats
NOTE: I’m not sure Fat Abby is air given shape–unless you are talking hot air balloons. She is a beautifully marked and very sweet brown and white patched tabby, without a brain in her pretty head, I’m afraid. She only knows one trick: how to find the food bowl. But that one, she has mastered completely. Consequently, she resembles a long-haired basketball when waddling around the house, and nothing I do seems to fix the problem. She’s made it nearly 13 years, though, so I have hopes her excess weight will not cut her life expectancy down by much. And she can still move fast when she wants to. I recently saw her go from the floor to the top of the porch screen in mere seconds, while in pursuit of a lizard who had foolishly come inside a house with four cats and two dogs, all of which would gladly make a snack of him.
“In ancient times, cats were worshipped as gods; they have not forgotten this.“
NOTE: Murph would be the most unlikely cat ever to be worshipped by anyone, anywhere. After rescuing her and her brother, Harry, almost two years ago, as kittens merely eight weeks old, Harry settled into our household and totally totally embraced his role as ruler of the roost. On the other hand, Murphy still dives under the nearest bed or couch when any human approaches her. You’d think she’d have figured out by now that we are mostly harmless and provide all the food and creature comforts she could ask for, as devoted slaves will do, but nooooo. We call her the Skittery Kittery.
“I am the Cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.”
–Rudyard Kipling, The Cat Who Walked By Himself
NOTE: Harry thinks the bookshelves over my desk are the perfect place to walk–and to lie down–by himself. Perfect for surveying his Kingdom. And for taking afternoon naps, far away from the riffraff, namely the dachshunds, below.
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