I don’t think I’ve written about my cats yet, which is … shocking. I’ve grown up with cats; we always had them around. Currently, I have a couple of rescues from Elbonia. They’re both black. Coincidentally, all the cats I’ve had as a grown up are black. Weird.
Brain is an older, quite possibly, senior cat. He likes sitting in warm laps and wet food. For some reason, he thinks he needs to anchor himself to that warm lap with claws.
Pinky is about 3.5 years old now. We found him when he was young enough that I could almost pinpoint his birthdate within a week. He and his litter mates had their eyes open, but only just. Pinky is sweet and lovable and dumb. He has jumped into a bathtub full of water three times now. The first time is an understandable accident. The second time is odd. After that, it’s just funny. That is, unless you happen to be in the tub when he decides he has made a terrible mistake. Ow.
Now, I do let my cats outdoors. I know that can be controversial, but I think the outdoors offers opportunities for enrichment which cut down on behavioral issues when they come back inside. A few months ago, Pinky showed up at the back door with a very recently dead bird in his mouth. He clearly wanted to bring it in. I watched him with it through the window for a few minutes and he clearly had no clue on ‘how to cat’.
I picked up the Brain and took him outside with me saying something like, “You have some big brothering to do”. Well Brain saw the bird, looked at Pinky, snatched the bird, and promptly ran off with it. I shrugged, “Eh, close enough”. Brain enjoyed his dine and dash (dash and dine?).
I suspect that Pinky learned more than I thought from this ordeal. Pinky has always been trim and sleek. He’s gotten a bit rounder over the winter. I’m going to have to keep an eye on the yard for feathers.