I could only hold off so long with the cat pictures.
Atticus and Scout will be 2 in August. We picked them out as kitties at the Golden Valley Animal Humane Society. They were the last two (or only two?) of their litter, having been fostered until they were old enough to be fixed and returned to the Society for adoption. Scout picked Jesse, actually; he stood by their little cage and she stumbled her little kitty way through the shredded newspaper to his outstretched pointer finger. A bond was forged.
I had never had a cat–in fact, I considered myself a “dog person” at the time, having grown up with an amazing miniature schnauzer who was actually a person. I didn’t understand cat logic or cat humor. By now, I think I have a pretty good handle on the latter. The former will always elude me, I think. (Also, whenever I read sentences with the whole “former vs. latter” structure, I have to think about it for a relatively long time before I figure it out. And here I am using it! Sorry.)
These babies drove across the country for three days with us as we made our way from Minneapolis to Portland. They had a special cat-place in the back of Jesse’s Subaru, blocked off by a pet grate he installed. They had cozy places with wadded up sweatshirts, food, and a litter box at their disposal. This is what Atticus thought about it:
It’s a good thing I was driving in a separate car, because they complained about it for the first hour or so of the drive every day. And that would’ve killed me. They’re pretty pathetic, and it tugs–no, yanks–on my heartstrings. They’re my babies!
Now, they have a home in the big vaulted room above the garage. The Room of Requirement, we’re calling it now. Big picture windows look directly out onto the back pasture and the green tree canopy near the house. Jesse installed a bird feeder on the house next to the window and managed to hang a seed bell on a tree branch mere inches away from the glass.
The cats have been exhausted ever since.
Their little jaws flap constantly as they chatter at the birds. I’m pretty sure some of these black-capped chickadees have started mocking the kitties, picking at the seed bell and then hopping over to perch on the window ledge before flying away. Atticus has forgotten himself and launched his little cat body into the window a few times already. Don’t worry–those screens are strong!
PS: Atticus likes clothes.