Wow...day two of my blog and it must be at least a year later. Honestly, not much has changed. It's raining out, and miserable. I still have a crapload of cats and Shuggie is still outside rambling when I wish she would come in where it's warm and sleep and keep my from having to worry about her.
Now a days, I have some new cats, and one of them is screeching outside the backdoor to be let inside. For at least the tenth time today and it's not even 2 p.m. His name is Benedict and he's a gigantic ginger, or as we call them down south, orange, tabby cat. He goes to the vet for "the operation" in less than a week. Not sure where the money will come from but it's got to be done. He beats up on his brother, Remy, who he seems to genuinely haaate for no reason I can discern, and he's one of those pacing, peeing, provoking cats you love in spite of his behavior but really want to strangle most of the time. He thinks his name is Shut The Fuck Up. Yes, he's a talker.
He was born here, in my bedroom, or maybe the linen closet, so this is the only home he's ever known. Would I give him away? If I could be certain it was to a good, loving home, why yes, yes I believe I would. Would anybody take him? Maybe. Keep him? Doubtful. As I say, he's loving but a pain in the buttocks.
Let me tell you about Prissi. Prissi is a grey striped tabby I rescued a number of years ago by way of a lady who worked at a local bank. She had ridden home with several people who worked around our court square, only to be returned there the next day and dumped back out. The lady at the bank took her home, but she had a large dog. A large dog who didn't necessarily want to hurt the kitten, but thought she was a toy. It wasn't going to end well. So...Prissi came home with me. She has no tail to speak of, and she's one of those cats that shrink away from you when you first try to touch her, though I took her in when she couldn't have been much more than 7 weeks old, and she's never been struck in her life.
Prissi loves evaporated milk. She jumps up on the kitchen counter (no my cats have never been taught the meaning of the words "down" or "no") and meows. Loudly and repeatedly. Regular milk will not satisfy this demand, and since I don't always keep tinned milk on hand, she often goes unsatisfied. But, as cats will do, she never gives up asking. Every. Single. Time. I. Go. In. The. Kitchen. Such is the persistence of cats.
Who else should I talk about today. Hmmm...well, I haven't really said much about Sugar...Shuggie...except that she gets outside and doesn't want to come in! So let me better describe her to you. Solid white. Yellow/green eyes, not very big, spayed, mostly gets along with the other cats. Mostly. Very, very loving. She, more than any cat I have ever been owned by, loves to have her belly rubbed. If she's on the bed, and I can tell by her body language that she's about to jump down...or up, on the chest of drawers, I need only reach out and scratch that tummy slightly and she melts to the mattress and flops down on her back. My hand wears out before she does every single time. She can't get enough of the belly rub.
She also love to get into my pants. In the winter, I often wear sweat suits around the house for warmth, and when I sit down on the toilet, there's Shuggie, to jump into my sweat pants and lay down, purring like a little hair dryer, looking up sweetly wanting to be petted. Usually, I have to force her out so I can get up and go about my daily routines. She enjoys being wherever I am, laying in my lap at the computer or in my recliner.
Maybe I'll tell you about Raven next. But that's a post for another day.
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