Gifts from cats.

There is much in my life that is too dull to post and things going on in and around my life that I should not speak of in such a public venue, so I’ve been at a loss for good blog topics.

For a short time after Easter I thought I’d be spending my July moving to another state, but that opportunity sadly fell through. So we are here. In an effort to make the best of things I’ve been systematically cleaning each room of our small home in a manner similar to what one does in preparation for a move. It’s been good to de-clutter my space. I’ve also started to make some other changes that I may relate here in a few weeks, but I want those changes to become closer to habits before I speak of them on this blog.

This summer has been good in a few ways. First we have an air conditioner—small underpowered unit but coupled with a powerful small fan (on loan from Latif’s brother) we’ve been able to keep the house dry and usually under 80 degrees.

This summer we also have a cat. He used to hang out in the bedroom most of the evening, but he doesn’t like the noise, or perhaps the cold, and has taken to napping by the front door—a space he is blocked from in the winter in an effort to cut down on drafts.

In North Dakota I had a cat, Neko. He was a strictly outdoor animal and in the spring would forgo his dry food and hunt fresh meat. His diet was varied. He’d even eat leftover stew—all but the peas (a very smart animal in my estimation—I HATE PEAS.) Much of his summer was spent hanging out by the big front picture window waiting for a bird to mistake it for sky and slam into it. The stunned bird on the sidewalk easily became lunch, and Neko would proudly stroll the front walk with bird feet hanging out of his mouth. In the late fall, without fail he would find a small mouse or shrew and leave it as a gift at our back step. Neko was a farm cat and a fine hunter with all his tools and weapons.



Dorian is not a farm cat. He has no claws and aside from the odd insect that he encounters, does not catch is own food. He has (like the priest in my husband’s favorite movie) a rather “capricious stomach” and aside from buttered croissants has showed zero interest in anything we eat. He is rather inept at stalking and pouncing and aside from a few ventures to our deck and the front walk to get a good brush down to deal with shedding, he never goes outside. He is the opposite of Neko. But after his own fashion he likes to leave us offerings. Pictured is a toy of his. I call it the “jingle sock.” There are bells tucked in that sound when he plays with it. Every few days I wake up in the morning to find that Dorian has left it at the foot of our bed. He will not play with it again until I toss it back into the living room. Then he will in the night attack it and leave it for us as a gift.

REG

lhg edited and approved