The Furry Muse

A Haiku entitled "You Dirty Rat"

All night, in my face.

Whiskers tickled, paws push poke.

Alas, no sleep for me.

Wild Kingdom

On Saturday the Mr. and I were enjoying the sunshine on the patio and having a quiet (gasp) uninterrupted chat. Our cat had been hanging around, investigating bugs, rolling in the dirt on the concrete, and generally being in the vicinity. After a few minutes he wandered away around the side of the house, to be gone for a short interlude. I looked up in time to see him come trotting around the corner of the house towards us.

His mouth was full.

His mouth was full of a small, limp, and furry creature.

We wandered over to check it out when he sprawled in the dirt and dry weeds.

Behold the mighty hunter:

Look at him. All nonchalant and slightly possessive. Mildly smug.

The Mr. poked the furry lump.

It was still warm.

Ew.

We finally left him alone outside with it and peeked out later to catch Act II in The Drama Of Nature:

Looks likes it's curtains for Little Bunny FooFoo.

A little catty

This is my cat, Buster

His Royal Highness knows exactly how gorgeous he is.

The other day I found him waiting patiently in the sink.

He wanted a drink.

Fresh from the faucet.

He's a little spoiled.

"Enough pictures, Woman."

I hear him sigh.

"Can I please have my drink now?"

I'm sorry, buddy. Just can't resist one more.

Check out that look of patient suffering.

He's such a martyr.

Don't be fooled. He got his drink. He always does. Right before I brush my teeth every night he jumps up and hogs the sink with his furry behind while I patiently wait for him to drink his fill. Then he hurries and hops on the bed to spread out and hog as much of the foot space as possible before we get there. Yep, it's good to be King.