Friday, October 21, 2016

Charlie and the Rainy Day

He hates snow, mistrusts grass most of the time, refuses to walk in the fields because it hurts his feet and gravel is what you leap over to get to the nice soft dirt...and forget woods walks. Pine needles?  You joke, surely. 

And yet every morning before dawn he insists that now he has to go out. (house rule #1: if I can't see the trees as trees, it's too dark...)  Right now it's pouring out and every time I let him out he sits here on the porch and stares.  

After about fifteen minutes he's paws up and peering in the window,  little mouth open-and-close, open-and-close, 'oh my god it's WET out here. let me IN..." Understand, there is no sound there. He rarely makes noise any louder than a muted squeak, but the soundless cry is just as effective.

Sometimes I see him sitting like this, at the edge of the porch, soundlessly berating the sky, the grass, something, because it isn't performing properly. He has a cat door, but to get to it requires a walk through grass that may have been rained on. The entire three foot walk from the porch to the covered culvert pipe that leads to the cat door tunnel...

How he made it up our driveway in late November without a hat or boots or even good gloves, is beyond me. 


  1. Got to love your cat. My Watson would bitch and moan at me and/or the door until I let him out. What I failed to understand was, he didn't want to go OUT, he just wanted me to open the door and let the flies in.

  2. We have yet to figure him out entirely. He will not sleep on fluffy pillows, he prefers one of those sisal rugs both for scratching and for sleeping, and barring that, a nice round braided chair rug. Throw one down and he's on it.
    He's too big for chairs, and thank goodness laps, the only one he accepts is the recliner. That's twelve pounds of cat, there.

    well, think of the exercise he got chasing those flies, then...

    I think all Charlie wants when he goes out is me to go with him. Sometimes he just turns around and comes right back in. If I go out, he's behind me.

    Do you have cats now? Or are you just waiting for the right one--

    1. Wow! 12 pounder, that's a lot of puddy tat. Do you buy your kibble in the 50lb sack? :D
      I don't have cats now, although I would love to have one. I'm getting on and I worry about what would happen if I passed. I'm in the "goldfish" stage of my life, I think.

    2. He's solid, the fluffy part is just a bonus. He actually has at least three coats, one of which he is joyously shedding right now.
      Im at about the same place as you are, our cats sometimes live 15 years or longer, and Charlie is about 4, his buddy
      Toby is about 6 or 7, so they're good, barring dreadful diseases, for another ten years.

      You could always rescue an older cat from the shelter...ive done it both ways, stray and shelter.

      If I were to get another cat it would have to be an older cat, preferably female, to keep these two from arguing. Females tend to stabilize things, I find.

      you laugh, ha ha, I buy kibble in 30 lb bags when I can find it. Of course, the mice (foolish foolish mice) like to raid the dish too, right now they're busy filling up one of the drawers in my sideboard with fresh kibble. =(

      Toby is the mouser, Charlie shouts encouragement at him. lol

  3. He looks poignantly like my dear Annabelle, cat of my heart. Feral, never handled by any other human than me.

  4. I know he does, Liz. I've run across a few ferals too, and when they accept you, it's an amazing feeling. For them, too.

    Toby is my feral, possibly handled too roughly and too often before he came here--when he and Charlie finally got together it changed them both. Toby now allows me to brush him, and when he whips by I can now and then pat him--although I get the sense he's not sure just what that's all about. At least not yet.
    they've changed each other, considerably.