This past week the boys have been given full range in the house, with only a few small exceptions, which they can probably overrule as their athleticism increases with further leaps and bounds. That ain't no pun intended, it's just the deal. Cats are leapers and bounders. As well as being driven by an immense curiosity. They're damn near as curious as people, and probably more ruthless, truth be known. They just made a deal with us long ago. Feed us and we won't conspire to kill you.
These guys may not kill us outright, but they might eat us out of house and home and any chance to get a better vehicle or a tooth repaired. Next on the agenda is to get all three of them "neutered." The nads are showing. It's getting to be time. We don't want to rush it because we think their personalities need to develop, something that's already one of the human pleasures of being around them, in their home. The three are all quite different. Bruiser, now called Grey Bear by me (Libby has different names but I can't remember them, although they're very nifty and I need for her to write them down for me--put em on the fridge or something--Grey Bear is much less the pushy one now. He's the most "self-contained," happy to be by himself some of the time, while the two black ones, Fuzzy and Wuzzy, wrassle and tussle. He has a tendency, slowing waning, to want to "nurse" one of the others when he's wanting to go to sleep. In that regard, one of his favorite toys is a little rubble nipple that came with a pet-feeding bottle. Toss him that and he plays and plays with it, ignoring what the others are up to. Meanwhile, Wuzzy has become more and more vocal and more and more engaged with us. He will often meow loudly and then climb onto one of our chests, purring loudly, then going right off to sleep. This morning Wuzzy climbed the barrier into our sleeping loft and was exploring all over the bed. He has the kitty-alarm gene apparently, and also the sleek look of a siamese, which goes with his vocality. Fuzzy still has bigger feet, and the softest, sweetest temperament. He's a panther, but reasonably friendly. He doesn't mind being the nursee to Grey Bear. He'll tussle with either or both endlessly, but there's a kind of get-along way about him. If this was the Dirty Dozen, he'd be Clint Walker. I'm hoping Wuzzy isn't Telly Savalas. I'd like to give Grey Bear the honor of Lee Marvin's character, but I'm not sure he's quite that much of a leader. Maybe he's Bronson. Maybe Wuzzy is Jim Brown. Yea, that's the ticket. Nope, the wrong ticket--it's obvious really; Wuzzy is Cassavetes. He's the one who complains.
Right now they're all standing at the French doors watching Momma eat breakfast. Libby spend much of yesterday looking for that trap. They're all out at Lowes. Not a good sign, but a sign of the fact that spring is here, and summer close at hand. The livin' is easy for felines on the wild right now. There's plenty of water and the grass is high. Probably mice and voles and moles all abound. I know there's a bunch of squirrels. Rabbits too. The light comes early and stays late. The moon casts shadows in the woods.
Charlie Company doesn't realize how good they've fallen into. They look out the door and see nothing but fun, stretching forever. When they go to sleep they go upstairs, which was once our bedroom but at the moment has turned into an attic full of whatnot. I think it reminds them of the shed, where they first saw light. We go to sleep hearing them running around up there, then they quiet down, finding little secret sleeping places. Yesterday they sat on their "kitty condos" (made of particle board, cardboard, and felt, held together by staples, crafted by the crafty Chinese) and watched the Indianapolis 500. I shoulda made a movie of that.
[Libby took the pic, a few weeks back now. They're much bigger now. I think I'm wearing my Kyle Busch shirt, so it must be race day.]
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