...pusscat's read all the papers/ seen the movie and knows/ all the streets lead to somewhere/ and the pavement's gold....
Cat stories, to balance the knitting. Or maybe not.
We have the reverse of 'stuff on my cat' at our house. Clear surfaces? Check. Sunny windowsills? Check. Cozy comforter-covered beds? Check. Empty laps? Check.
Where's the cat?
On our stuff.
Given the choice between counter and computer, table and a pile of papers, chair to himself or one with a stack of magazines, bet you can guess which he'll choose.
We've finally learned to leave the copy/scan/fax machine in the OFF position, because of the CopyCat in our house. We had way, way too many furbutt photocopies. Who am I kidding? One is too many.
It's just before Easter, 2009. Hawk pulls into the Dana lot, where he leaves the BigTruck.
"Boy am I glad to see you!" says one of the truck-industry-support-folk. "You're an animal lover, right? C'mere, I wanna show you something."
Hawk is wary, but co-operative.
"We call him Trouble, but he's a loverboy, really. You gotta meet him."
He puts a skinny black kitten into my husband's arms. Hawk holds the cat face-up, and rubs his chest and tummy.
The kitten blinks yellow lamplight eyes and begins to purr.
A girl in the office had noticed an abandoned cat hanging around her home, and had put out food for it. Her mother had a fit, declaring that they already had one cat to feed, and that was enough. The girl captured the cat and brought it to the truckyard where, presumably, it survived on scraps leftover from lunches. But the Easter holiday was coming, and no one would be at the yard. And then there were the large actual feral cats. The truckyard folk feared for Trouble's life.
Hawk listens, and glances down at the cat in question. It has fallen asleep.
The first notice I have of an addition to our household is my husband's voice telling the kids (outside in the yard, playing on an unseasonably sunny day) that he has a friend he wants them to meet.
"But you have to be careful- he gets scared by loud noises."
Oh, great. He's brought home some drunk homeless guy.
"And he needs a bath. But I think you'll like him."
Okay, so now I'm prepared for a near-starving black dog. But it's this tiny tuxedoed cat wrapped in a dirty towel. Hawk engages in the aforementioned bathing activity.
Cat emerges clean, notably calm, and after an energetic rub with a towel, purring. And he has one more surprise for us.
This cat has extra toes.
(Adam Ant; Puss 'N Boots)