I'm past the worst of this rotten cold that's kept me down for two weeks (knock wood, spin three times, spit and sing Alleluia.) The sun is shining, the birds are tweeting (the only twittering I'm involved in these days) and I'll be cruising the 'hood for more flower photos next week. I'd take photos of my garden but I don't know, do you want to see photos of dandelions and crabgrass sprouting amidst the Buddy Bombs?Until I impose upon the goodwill of my neighbours with nicer gardens (using the age old method of Horticulture Stealth Photography, or 'Horthography') and post more flower pics, have a boo at these videos. My friend and writer extraordinaire kc dyer just posted them on her blog, courtesy of Darren Barefoot. It's the goofiest cat I've ever seen. There's a television in one of the videos, but if I owned this cat (though from the looks of it, this cat would own me) would I really need a television for entertainment?
Seriously, it makes me want to go out and get another cat. Almost. But I know if I did, my husband would most certainly garrote me on the spot with Buddy's leash. Don't tell him, but he hasn't even discovered all the big holes on our new patio screen door. You see, we have Boris, a fat old lump of a cat, who sits and stares at the door, knowing someone will eventually come and open it for him (and even that explanation may be giving him more credit than he's due.) Then there's Kicia, a tiny, floppy bit of fluff with a big personality who gets our attention by climbing the screen and howling. I've now reached the point where I don't have instant heart failure when I glance over to find her stretched like she's being tortured on the rack. We (I) have to make sure her claws are trimmed, otherwise she can't release her grip, leaving us (me) no option but to slide the screen open with her still attached to it so I can pry her off, one furry paw at a time.
Nah. I'll stick to watching others: