Cats, Cats, Cats

A few of you know we share our home with four of the critters.  Plus there are Greebo and Maurice, the two outdoor “not our cats.”  No, they’re not our cats.  We feed them, provide shelter in winter, pet them and are thinking of having them microchipped.  However, please don’t be confused.  They are NOT our cats.  Dan says they aren’t, and I’m a dutiful wife.  So.  There.  (And yes, Dan is the one who suggested microchipping them.  Don’t go there.  Not.our.cats.)

I couldn’t get pics of Greebo and Maurice.  Everytime they’re in a cute pose and I run for the camera, they move.  I also couldn’t get a pic of Euclid, the black indoor cat.  Or rather, yes, I could, but there wasn’t enough light, so all you see is eyes.  I’ll have to try another time.

Meanwhile, here are the others.

This is DT.  She’s going on to 17 years old and she knows her job.  She’s my writer cat.  Well… actually, she’s Dan’s cat and utterly devoted to him.  I’m sure he tells her to watch me during the day.  If I’m not at my desk and at least pretending to write, she dutifully herds me back into place.

This is Miranda.  Four and a half pounds of Cornish Rex, but — really — cat royalty.  Just ask her.  She bosses us horribly.  Dan says her ears pick up transmissions from outer space.  I fear for his life, really.  I think she’s meowed “off with his head” several times.  Fortunately none of the two foot servants understand cat.  She has this thin little meow and loves to sleep under the covers with us in winter.

And this is D’Artagnan, D’Artancat, sausage, little cat, notorious ILB (Inappropriately Licking Boi) AND The Cat Who Came In From The Cold.  He came in on Eric’s birthday, two years ago.  The guys were unloading groceries, it was 4 below and falling, a snow storm was beginning, and this — then — eight week old ball of fluff came in the kitchen door, rubbed on our ankles, purred and proceeded to the food dish.  We never found out where he came from (and yes, we asked.)  As you can see, he stayed.  Yes, he’s adorable.  He loves us to death, licks us and tries to wag his tail at us (don’t go there.)  Look at that face!  Wouldn’t YOU let him walk all over you?

Sarah