:: The Wendy House ::

waiting room receptionist:  are you being seen to?

I had my cats ’seen to’ as a condition of adopting them from rescue centres.   

Wendy:  someone has been notified of my arrival

Cunningly avoiding providing information on the impending existence, or not, of my reproductory organs. 

Phew,  near miss!

Even the sleek Greek cats emerge from the windy alleys to occupy favourite perches to supervise the sunset.

while visiting Seattle this April I met with many local friends, indulged in lots of purring, stroking, creaky-meowing, general faffing and furring-up-nosing.   All in the best possible taste.

On the 1hr drive to Reading from the Gatwick Animal Reception Centre Matrix rode gunshot purring, chatting and rubbing the journey away. Sampo silently hid under her food dish. Within an hour of being given free reign of the Wendy House Matrix had eaten, drunk, pooped, then snooped into every cat-sized orifice she could find. Meanwhile Sampo slurped a sack of water then watched the goings-on from the safety of under the dining room table before a tip-toe exploration.

Then. They both got on with the serious matter of snore-laden snoozing in front of the fake-real fire.

Pleasing the kitties was a primary influencer when selecting a new-old Wendy house. The main bedroom, conservatory and fake-real fire are already big-hits. Phew.

Tricky-test passed.

Now champagne and kebabs… Hoorah!

Making the cat laugh.  One woman’s Journal of single life on the margins.  (1995) A book by Lynne Truss,  then chief TV critic of The Times more recently famous for writing the ambiguously titled “Eats shoots and leaves“.

The book felt like a collection of paragraphs pulled together in no particular order.  Well written,  entertaining and suitably trivial to qualify purely as light entertainment.  A gift from a friend.  It failed to engross me, enlighten me, or make me laugh out loud.  Despite the obvious superficial similarities (English girl, single, has cats, her paragraphs like blog posts) I did not find the stories personally relevant. 

Innocently wandering through a Dungeness, not Dungeness, graveyard.  As one is wont to do.

Minding my own business. Reading the odd,  very odd, gravestone.  When,

SUDDENLY 

As if from nowhere,  a cryptic cat launched itself at my torso.  It cunningly used pin-prick claws to latch onto my skinny left thigh.  While chewing my zipper and partially succeeding in mesmerizing me with talking eyes the killer kitty eye’d my nose as a potential source of protien:

Scared, me?  Oh yes. 

Lot’s of ‘nice kitty’s were administered to secure my thigh’s freedom. 

Finally I discovered that offering my fingers as a sacrifice helped lure the kitty’s claws from my leg as it performed the twistiest of jumps in a digit devouring frenzy.  My fingers and legs bare punctuation scars…

I’ve not heard an American use the phrase ‘graveyard’ nor seen sign’s with the phrase.  Roads are called ‘cemetary road’ and sign’s indicate cemetaries.  Modern cemetaries are often labelled ’memorial garden’.  The mutliple, relevant, related meanings that come with using the word ’grave‘ appeal to me:

1. dig; excavate.
2. carve or shape with a chisel: sculpture; carve or cut (as letters or figures) into a hard surface: engrave.
3. to impress or fix (as a thought) deeply.

a striking disparity in per-kitty fluffball production 

Do cats have an informal, accurate, theory of static electricity?

My kitties adore paper. I leave sheets of crumpled paper on the floor aound my home. They prefer rolling and writhing on the paper than the carpet.  The carpet is not natural fibre.  Rolling on the carpet builds static electricity.  Rolling on paper does not. 

Coincidence or clever kitties?  You decide….

 700,000 x luuuurrrffffffff to all you doody-cats

Bask in all that BIG luuuurrrrrffffff

Matrix doing a demo:

Mountain Lion = Puma = Cougar = Catamount, Felis Concolor

I learned that letting a domestic kitty range outdoors in the NW US risks it becoming some local predators lunch. Lots of preditors here that don’t live in the UK. The picture below is not a puma eating a domestic kitty. It is a Puma carrying its cub.

You too can have a trophy-kill cuddly-toy on your own wall at home

Cuddly-Puma-Head

W Watching-Weally-Wild-Caged-Cats

Paper is fun;

Your cat may well prefer high-tech entertainment;

DVDs

why, Why, WHY?

I’m not complaining. They’re very easy to please… …dare I say - ‘like me’?

Wendy Wondering-Why