It’s 11 am. Do you know where your kitties are?
If you’re Roscoe, you are still asleep, curled up in your nest of pillows. Roscoe is very appreciative of my pillow fetish. When he comes in at night, he has dinner and then goes right to bed, cuddling comfortably in feather pillows until it’s time to get up.
If the weather is not up to his high standards, he just stays in bed, or goes back there after inspecting climactic conditions and not finding them sufficiently attractive to warrant venturing outside. Today it’s cloudy or foggy or both, so Roscoe isn’t giving the day the time of day.
Eventually he will come downstairs. I can always tell who it is without seeing them. Roscoe has a majestic, deliberate step, whereas Audrey bustles manically and Clyde scampers.
Clyde is currently cuddled up against my shoulder, alternately purring and sleeping and generally doing his best to help me in the procrastination process. How can I possibly write reports when I have a cat who thinks he’s a kitten sprawled over half of my body? Even though I can apparently still blog. Procrastination, like most (or maybe all) of my special skills, is not particularly useful. I can also accurately identify the most expensive piece in antique jewelry ads in “The New Yorker” and tell if someone really is a guy or girl no matter what they are wearing, a skill honed from years of living in San Francisco. None of these are remunerative, however.
Audrey is sitting on the back porch, controlling me with the power of her mind. She has an amazing ability to make me do what she wants without making a noise or doing anything much other than gaze at me with her huge green eyes. If Audrey were a girl, I think she’d look like Ida Lupino. Notice the resemblance:
The two lovely ladies share sassiness and smarts as well as beauty. Right now, Audrey is telepathically commanding me to give her some canned food. I give her a spoonful most days, after which she takes off to terrorize the local dog population and other pressing matters.
I wish she’d terrorize Orange Cat. I’m almost sure The OC is responsible for Roscoe’s torn ear and the bald spots over Clyde’s eye and the nape of his neck. Needless to say audacious Audrey is untouched. Now when I see Orange Cat I chase him away, even though I never thought I’d be the kind of person who chased cats. I guess love makes protectors of us all.