Thursday, March 1, 2012
Yowls Well that Ends Well.
Ernest Hemingway collected cats. According to him, one cat leads to another.
Like tattoos and other forms of pain. How did he get anything writing done with all that caterwauling? That would be like me trying to write while listening to Megadeth.
The cutie in the photo is Sully. He is the latest edition (we hope) to our family, and the current reason for my exhaustion. Funny how alert one becomes when awakened from a deep sleep by low growls outside the bedroom door.
Being a relatively new pet owner, I was unprepared for the hissing, biting, screaming and territorial posturing involved. The cats were bad too. I think Freya secretly watches Bruce Lee movies.
But it's Day Four and I see a light at the end of the tunnel. They spend a lot of time close to one another without any freak outs. But I don't think I'm supposed to know that. It's like they deliberately howl in unison the minute I walk in the room-just to milk it a little. Because aggravating the human is fun.
You know what I've learned? That my cat Freya is a domineering, loud, little bitch that doesn't care if you're bigger than her. It's HER way or NO WAY.
I wonder where she got that from?