orange cat

The cats are here.  The orange cat is hollering.  The tiny cat walked in. I said, “Hello, Tiny Cat” and she said “meow” and then she scampered off to explore the house.

Now that the cats are here, it feels like home.

More later.  I’m having some issues and sitting upright is not that pleasant.

Well, thanks to yesterday's Instalanche, I figure I have a few more readers of this blog, so I'd better keep on posting. Tonight's topic, as I sip a little George Dickel and Coke Zero will be cats. I am not a cat person. I grew up with a family dog, from when I was six years old to when I left for college.

To the surprise of four people living in Guam and an orange cat named Humphrey, Joe Leiberman is speaking at the Republican Convention.

Someone has been eating my sage.  Someone, judging from the bite marks, fairly small–a bunny or perhaps an orange cat–just taking a bit out of the side of the leaves as it needs the taste of sage to compliment its salad of my lawn.

So, last night, I took the dog out and both of the cats (avert your eyes, Rachel) ran outside, which is not so unusual for the orange cat but is very rare for the tiny cat.  I begged them to come back in.  I called “kitty, kitty” and I tried to scoop them up, but dog in hand, it wasn’t happening.

You’re going to tell me this is not the soul mate of the Orange Cat?