Welcome the newest member of our family, Lola. We adopted her from a local rescue organization this afternoon. She is six months old and part to mostly Australian Shepherd. Right now she’s under twenty pounds and no one knows how large she will get.

Zoe, our cat, is handling the new addition like the lady of the house that she is. There’s been a little light scolding and some pointed paw shaking, puppies are smelly. Tonight they both ate from their own dishes in the kitchen at the same time. I’m calling day one a huge success.

Happy National Black Cat Day!

Today Zoe is celebrating her blackness. In honor of Italian black cats, she spent the day sipping fine coffee, licking up bowls of gelato and ofcourse wearing a tiara.

“As part of a feline image makeover, an Italian animal protection group has organized a celebration to be held Saturday in large Italian cities including Milan and Rome. The events are aimed at countering this societal prejudice and will include art exhibitions celebrating black cats, outdoor bring-your-own-black-cat gatherings and picnics, and award ceremonies for people who have protected black cats.”

I can’t imagine the chaos of a large outdoor gathering of black cats, or cats of any color. Plus, I think Zoe would be of the opinion that instead of my receiving an award for protecting a black cat, she’s the one who should get the award for being a black cat.

p.s. Thanks for checking in on me. I’m still alive, having survived earthquakes, injury, and a visit from my parents. More on all of that soon!

I’m being courted, charmed, flirted with by a vagabond, wanderer, all while my main squeeze watches on the sidelines, waiting to defend my honor.

This spring and summer our yard ran over with wild cats. Most were leggy, sleek, short furred with a hunters grace, expect for the one clumpy furred, extra skinny youngster with a giant head. As summer wore on, the other cats disappeared, leaving only the “fluffy cat” to set-up shop in the abandoned house next door. Whenever I stepped outside it would call out to me, “Hello!” So the flirting began.

One rainy September day (the only one?), the fluffy cat was camped on the empty porch next door, wet and especially forlorn. I couldn’t resist anymore. Armed with a bowl of dry cat food, I approached the porch. With skitterish encouragement, the fluffy cat circled me, diving into the bowl as it hit the floor.

Now fluffy cat runs to greet me, rubbing my legs and prancing. Meanwhile, Zoe, my star cat for the past nine years, listens on the other side of the front door, running from window to window, brandishing her fist, huffing and puffing.

Last week she’d had enough. As we took out the garbage, she made a run for it, out the back door, her target in plain sight. Fluffy cat was going down. Zoe chased the interloper out of yard, through the yard next door and halfway up a tree before SB caught her and dragged her back into the house. Zoe had that cat running scared and she knew it.

For the next couple days it was pure gloating and self congratulating inside the house. Zoe had shown that cat who is in charge around here. Fluffy cat wasn’t seen for the next week, until today….

This morning at 6am I started to seriously consider a new overfeeding plan for the cat. Maybe if she were to get really fat it would slow her down, make her sleep a little more. She’s going on nine years old and spends hours at a time running around like a kitten. Something about having all the guests here this month made her decide that we should all be up by 6:30am. Guess what? It is still dark out at that unreasonable hour!

Once she succeeds in waking us she can barely settle down to eat. It is all chase me or pull that string. Run, Run, Run. As soon as we leave for work at 10am she goes back to sleep so that she can be fresh and ready to greet us eight hours later.