Too much excitement

Posted on by

And kitty drama.

My daughter moved back in with her needy, spoiled, adolescent cat. Of course Sydney has been, um, tweaked. With good reason, since Stella appropriated Sydney’s space.

Meanwhile, another cat adopted us. We named him Blackie. When he first showed up, sleeping under the rose bushes and sneaking into the garage for food, he didn’t have much personality and that seemed like a good name.

Now that he’s been fed and no longer runs when we look his way, he does have a personality. Soft-serve would have been a good name. Somehow being petted relaxes him, so that he has to run over to the lawn and make a deposit on the grass.

Or we could have called him Faucet. The cat drools when he’s petted. It’s disgusting. Long drips all over our laps. He shook his head once when my daughter was petting him, and his spittle ended up on her face. Ick, ick, ick.

Sometimes her weirdness has a reason

Posted on by

My little friend likes to weird me out at times. More than once she’s stared at a blank wall or at an empty spot on the floor, or attacked the remains of a houseplant that was giving her the evil eye.

Sydney did it again this morning. She stared out through the screen door into the backyard. The first time I humored her and went outside. Maybe one of those freeloading cats was out there. Nope, nothing.

She settled down when I came back in, but then a while later she had to jump down from my lap and go stare out the door again. What a neurotic animal.

These tracks were left under the tree.

These tracks were left under the tree.

Then my husband comes back in the house after feeding the birds and got out the binoculars. “There’s a raccoon in the second oak.”

It was sitting on a branch cleaning itself. If I were Sydney I’d be upset, too; the raccoon was at least three times her size. But, geez, she’s got the spastic act down so well it’s hard to know when to take her seriously.