Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Cats


See this grey beastie here?

He's pushing twenty years old and still thinks he can take on the neighbourhood.

That's partly why he's an indoor kitty. Other reasons include him being deaf as a post, and as we live on a busy street, and as he has a brain the size of a walnut (love him, but it's true) that could be a dangerous combination.

But we still leave the upstairs balcony door open much of the year day and night so that him and Colby can wander out and enjoy the sunshine/fresh air/watch the birds and bats flying by. (And so Jeff and me don't swelter on these freakin' hot summer nights.)

Anyway, the other night about three in the morning, there was a blood-curdling yowl and my grey beast either leapt or fell off the balcony in pursuit of Louie, the mostly mild-mannered orange tabby that lives a few doors down.

(Louie has been in the habit of visiting our second story patio to check out the air up there lately. How does he jump up? We just don't know. He's quite portly. It's quite a jump. I'm guessing he levitates. Seriously. I briefly considered the possibility. )
Anyway, the other night it was Lestat's turn to initiate things. Well, at the very least he was nowhere in the house or on the balcony, so we figured that was the most likely explanation.

Jeff and I spent a long while searching the neighbourhood by flashlight, but he was just gone .
Aargh. Nothing like being woken up like that. There was nothing for us to do but go back to bed and hope he'd return. I was really worried he'd hurt himself.
About a week ago, there was a cat funeral in the family (my mother-in-law's cat Taylor) and I've been commissioned to select and paint the grave marker. I was dearly hoping I wouldn't have to worry about more cat-related funeral items.
Well, the suspese ended the next morning when I heard piteous mewing sound coming from outside. There he was,making a beeline for the front door and his breakfast bowl.

He's fine. Not a mark or a limp. (Well, he always walks a bit stiffly because twenty years old is like being George Burns in cat years.)
Okay, cat, no more making me worry!

9 comments:

blackcrag said...

Ah, LeStat, I remember you well. And even at twenty you are as bloodthirsty as ever.

That is almost admirable in a way...

kimber the wolfgrrrl said...

Lestat -- I hope I'm as spry and adventurous at twenty!

Hagelrat said...

he' gorgeous! I want a cat, mine stayed with my parents on the farm when i left home, lived to a fine old age and was very spoilt, but where we live now we could definately have a cat.

Ms.L said...

Oooh my gosh,what a worry!
I love him,still having adventures
at his amazing age!

Pol* said...

Dear old puddy tat, I love that cat. It doesn't surprise me a bit that he fell off to find adventure.... very mean on your nerves though isn't it?!

Grant said...

In the picture he looks mean and/or evil. I approve. I'm assuming he's your familiar, which would explain the longevity.

Pol* said...

Cats are so unpredictable! I woke up this morning to the gentle purr and kneeding caress on my cat... the unpredictable thing is that she was under the covers! And she's never been allowed even ON the bed let alone IN it!!!!! Why this morning was the morning, I don't know, but I was pleased and didn't have the heart to boot her out straight away like I should have.

Get Off My Lawn! said...

Oh my gosh. I was initially surprised he is still even around. However, he must have stores of strength to have survived his ordeal. Here's to another twenty.

Jo said...

Omigosh, do you think the old feller was out tomcatting, and sowing some wild oats? *heh*

PS I have a new blog. *sigh* You can reach it through this comment.