The Kitties

Oh, the kitties. They are as happy as we are that spring has arrived. Clarabelle is making tentative forays into the big wide world again, and it is hard to get LeRoy in at night when the temps are in the fifties at 9:00 p.m. Lately, it has been in the thirties or even twenties at dawn and dusk, but that doesn't bother me too much. Spring is here. There is no stopping it.

When we left for Mexico, we dropped LeRoy at the vet's for boarding and...substitute LeRoy and Clare for the dogs in the car and yard, respectively, in this good old Far Side cartoon:

When we picked him up upon our return the woman who brought him out in his carrier said, "Who wants LeRoy?"

Uh, we do?

"He's a real..."

Piece of work?

"Well we didn't take any of the ornery out of him, but we didn't put any in, either."

Thanks.

It seemed for about a week that he had matured. He laid down and gazed pensively, blinking his eyes in recognition of you, just like mature, zen-like kitties do. He wasn't jumping Clare every five minutes. He purred bodaciously when you stroked his pretty fur.

Gradually, though, he's reverted back to his very ornery, playful, and sometimes ridiculous self. He wrestles Clare (poor old gal), jumps up onto the kitchen counter and table, looking for scraps and leaving muddy pawprints, and climbs halfway up trees like a madman when following us on walks.

He has a new "toy" in the house. John is building the staircase, slowly but surely, out of bittersweet vine (its gorgeous). LeRoy thinks that he is doing a swell job and highly approves of the work. When you think about it from a cat's perspective, this whole house is one big scratching post. It is nice, from a human perspective, that I don't have to worry about them ruining the woodwork. These old posts can take cat claws and then some.

And he loves playing in the bathtub with the rug that Sarah and Jorge gave me for my birthday in Mexico. I have it hanging over the tub, whereupon he pulls it in and wrestles around with it making all kinds of racket that causes one to look up and ask, "what in the world...?"

Meanwhile, Clarabelle sits by the stove, wondering why we don't have it cranking at 500 degrees for her. She makes a tasty target for LeRoy--who wouldn't want to jump on that lump of sleeping adversary? I throw my slipper at him. Clare looks up, thanks me with her gaze, and goes back to sleep.

Ah, the kitties. What would I do without them?

PS: Thanks to Heather for the Picasa tip. I'm still learning! It's fun!